Silence is Eternal
by GalaxyInfinite
Summary: Neia is recruited into the Dark Brotherhood after the darkness infects her mind and influences her to commit murder. As she and the darkness fight for control, Lucien has suspicions that he has met her before. Neia cannot speak against the Brotherhood she despises, because the darkness has rendered her completely mute. Will the darkness take over and turn her to evil?
1. Prologue: Contract

**This story is based on the Dark Brotherhood questline from The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion by Bethesda Softworks. I don't own Oblivion, The Elder Scrolls, or Bethesda Softworks.**

**This story is going to jump forwards and backwards in time in some chapters, because the past has a significance to the future. The events in the past take place during 3E420, and the events of the present take place during 3E433.**

* * *

Sun's Dawn 5, 3E420

* * *

The scented airflow barely murmured, not betraying the presence of the hooded figure. The pungent aroma of rotting flowers seemed to cling to the path, despite there being no clouds to hold the scent from escaping into the black void above. He crept forward with one indistinct step at a time following the ever-changing shadows, wherever the flickering torches' light couldn't reach. Never seen by the chainmail-clad guards, he would either be mistaken for a dark corner, or not be seen at all.

The torch-laden patrols were few and far between this night, which made the hooded man's job easier than was customary. He reached the end of the path quickly, and then waited for the next window of opportunity. His many years of practise allowed him to crouch there without reaching to protect his nose, for the sharp scent had grown stronger. The figure waited under an archway that led through to the courtyards of this grand manor.

The guard reached the figure's position then walked past, and the figure readied himself for his next manoeuvre. In one quick movement he sprung upwards, grabbed the decorative spikes that lined the archway, and pulled himself up and over the inner edge of the wall that enclosed the courtyard. He landed on top of the wall in his usual crouch, admired the real spikes that lined the outside edge of the wall, and then took in all of the information he could glean from the manor and its gardens.

From his perch he could see the curving walls and intricate decoration that could only be as a result of a rich prince, duke or count and a well-paid architect. The house was surrounded by mossy hills and overlooked the Niben River. The many torches mounted on the walls were an attempt to turn this manor into bubble of dry in the eternal dampness of the Niben.

The gardens were the source of the pungent smell; the rotting flowers were from an attempt to make a garden to rival those of other aristocrats, but failing because of the humidity. The only surviving plants appeared to be nightshades and nirnroots. Many forms of fungi had begun to take back the soil after the latest purge by the resident gardener. The hooded man guessed that the owner of the house or the gardener had tried to disguise the nightshade plants amongst other plants.

The man crept along the wall, tracing its curved path to the main house. This wall was not designed for people to walk along, so there was no risk of being spotted. The guards wouldn't bother to look. He reached the end of the wall and climbed up onto the sloped expanse of the clay-tiled roof. After only a few moments of crawling on the roof, he dropped down onto the stone balcony. Still in a crouch, he reached into a hidden pocket in his robes and pulled out a lockpick. He finally stood upright and approached the door. The lock on the balcony door was simple, and the door was opened in mere seconds.

The room had stone walls, ceiling and floor, and was small, dirty and sparsely furnished. Across the room sat a heavily wrinkled Bosmer woman garbed in tattered peasant-style clothes, despite the surrounding architecture. In front of her lay an effigy made of actual human body parts. Assorted bones surrounded a real, rotting heart all arranged in the rough shape of a person, despite the fact that there were too many thigh bones and an entire arm missing. To one side of the effigy was a silver dagger, stained red from being repeatedly stabbed into the effigy's heart. A violet-coloured flower from a nightshade plant sat next to the dagger, squashed and torn from having its petals rubbed across the blade of the dagger before the ritual had begun. The only source of light was the circle of candles that surrounded the effigy.

The man saw that the woman was daydreaming and had not yet noticed him, so he audibly shifted one of his feet. She jumped slightly in her simple wooden chair, and with wide eyes stared into the shadow of the man's hood. The hooded man broke free from his grim façade, and politely began to speak.

"Greetings, my dear elf," he said with a voice that flowed effortlessly like water. "My name is Lucien Lachance. I am here as a representative of The Dark Brotherhood."

"Oh, good evening Mr Lachance. I'm Nirwen… Nirwen of Valenwood," she croaked nervously. Lucien Lachance was not what she had expected. He was surprisingly young and light-hearted for an assassin. He couldn't have been much older than 20.

"The Night Mother has heard your summons, and she has sent me here to discuss the details of our contract. The contract is simple; you provide details of the target and payment, and we send the target to Sithis," Lucien said confidently, though the words seemed unfamiliar to his lips.

Nirwen hesitated. He walked over to her and crouched so that his face was level with hers. Lucien scrutinised her, then whispered "You do seek the formation of a contract?" She nodded, and then he continued in the same tone, "Who would you have us kill?"

"A Bosmer named Galthor and his wife Sylaen" she said quietly.

"And how will we find them?" his brown eyes stared deep into her hazel.

"Galthor is my son," she croaked reluctantly. "Kill him and his wife, but spare their child. The daughter is not at fault for her parents' mistake."

"Is there anything else we must know?" he still stared at her, but with slightly reduced force.

"Galthor may be foolish, but he is also rich, powerful and paranoid," she croaked. "He will not be an easy target."

"We are professionals," he whispered with a malevolent gleam in his dark eyes.

That gleam in his eyes said more than voice. In his eyes could be seen the very essence of the Brotherhood; their proficiency in the art of death; their secretive nature that is impenetrable; their inescapable grasp that strikes fear in even the bravest of knights. Once marked by the Dark Brotherhood, death is inevitable.

* * *

Sun's Dawn 6, 3E420

* * *

Lucien's midnight horse had been tethered not far from the manor; out of sight, hidden in a clump of trees. She heard the distinct sound of his footsteps. They were subtle and rhythmical, and each carefully measured. Despite her sudden alertness, she had been trained not to react physically under most conditions, in case there was somebody watching. She was delighted at his approach, but did not betray his presence or position.

When he reached the clump of trees he reached out with his gloved hand and lightly stroked her black mane. "Shadowmere," he whispered. He then untied her, and rode down a rough trail towards the Green Road. Shadowmere flew like a Pegasus into the dawn sky, with her rider bent forward to reduce drag as air whistled past.

* * *

They arrived in County Cheydinhal before sunset. Shadowmere knew where to go without him directing her, so he had slept in the saddle. Years of practise allowed him to sleep at odd times and in odd places, or not at all if necessary. He had no intention of visiting the sanctuary, so instead skirted all signs of civilisation and continued on towards his hideout overlooking the city of Cheydinhal.

Fort Farragut was a useful hideout, despite it being dank, dark and mostly inhospitable. He would not let comfort stand in the way of the strategic position of his chosen hideout. After the pleasure of clearing the fortress of bandits and other vermin, he had discovered the tree roots in the ceiling of the room he now called his home and had had the trapdoor installed (Lucien had promptly killed the man who had built the trapdoor, because the man had been unsuitable for blackmail). The many deaths related to the fort, and the introduction of skeletal guardians had encouraged superstitions of spiritual haunting to take foot among the common folk. No-one would think to go near the fort, and any brave heroes who did were dealt with by his dark guardians.

Lucien rode up the hill and around and to the north of the fortress to a secluded meadow, where he tethered Shadowmere. He walked back to the fortress, staying low to the ground as he walked so as not to reveal the secret alternative entrance to his hideout to any potential spies, foresters and other members of the Black Hand. When he reached the hollowed out tree, he squeezed in through the opening carefully, so as to not make a sound. He inspected the camouflaged trapdoor for signs of being tampered with, then opened it and climbed down the ladder into his abode.

Lucien glanced at the portcullis mechanism at the other entrance to the room, and neither lever had changed position by even the slightest measure. He sat down on the stool in front of his alchemy apparatus, and lit the blood-red candle stub by striking a piece of flint against steel and producing sparks. When the poison began to bubble vigorously he reached for a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write. Afterwards, he carefully sealed the document with red wax poured from the candle.

* * *

Sun's Dawn 8, 3E420

* * *

_Silencer,_

_The manner in which you executed the Orc maiden Sharog gra-Ghash was as imaginative and flawless as ever._

_You must now journey to the estate of a Wood Elf named Galthor off the Green Road near Bravil, where he lives with his wife Sylaen. The married couple Galthor and Sylaen must die by your hand. The client has specified that none of the other members of the family are to be killed. You should be warned that Galthor is rich, powerful and paranoid, and has hired a contingent of guards to defend the estate._

_When Galthor and Sylaen both lie dead, journey south to the city of Leyawiin. In a barrel in the graveyard near the Chapel of Zenithar you will find your reward for this contract, and details concerning your next contract._

Deelus scratched his scaled head and read the note through again. With practiced ease he diffused his momentary displeasure at being on the opposite side of Cyrodiil to his next contract. He bartered with himself and came to an impasse. Yes, he would do the contract (he deluded himself that he had any choice in the matter), but would visit with family on the way. Few Argonians have ever thought of living in Bruma, or anywhere else that snows, so he would have to travel to the Imperial City before he could visit any relatives.

Lucian's Silencer was a talented murderer. Despite that fact, most of Deelus's qualities would be judged as flaws. He earned a large income, but he could never be called rich. His ability to take risks, which had been quite useful in his career within the Dark Brotherhood, also translated into poor judgement when he was in the marketplace, and especially when he was gambling at the Arena.

Despite his loyalty to the Dark Brotherhood he always tried to find loopholes in its rules and Tenets, especially before he became Lucian's Silencer, when he was bound by The Five Tenets. He had been temporarily suspended from the Brotherhood on one occasion, as a result of the third time in a row he had tried to procrastinate for several weeks whilst he was supposed to be doing a contract set by Vicente.

On the job, all of these bad qualities of his became useful. They had allowed him to stay in a little Breton girl's cupboard from midday to sunset, writing bizarre poetry whilst he had waited to butcher her when she was asleep. His risk-taking side had prompted him to allow himself to be fed on by a vampire in order to get close to him, and risk being diseased, rather than sneaking past the patrols. He had even been able to convince one of the Palace Guards in the Imperial City that he was an ambassador from Black Marsh, thus exploiting a loophole and allowing him to access floors 3 through 12 of the Imperial Palace.

Deelus walked back to the city of Bruma in his tattered civilian clothes. He strolled over to the stables in order to hire a carriage to the Imperial City. Using some of his gold he had received from the dead drop, he paid the driver of the carriage. Deelus didn't like horses very much, but they were sometimes necessary in his trade. The driver urged the pair of horses to pull the carriage south, away from the snow of the north.

As they travelled closer and closer to the Imperial City, the air slowly warmed. Deelus tasted the air with his forked tongue, and was not bitten by the cold. This he found immensely pleasurable after the intense cold that had made his scales rigid and brittle. He limited himself to just a couple of days visiting with his relatives and gambling at the Arena, before he would hire a boat and travelling further south towards Galthor's manor.

* * *

Sun's Dawn 10, 3E420

* * *

Beneath the dusky sky, Deelus stood on the balcony where his Speaker had stood just under a week beforehand. He was garbed the dark-tinted leather armour of the Dark Brotherhood that all but the Black Hand wore. Across his back was slung a foreign-made wooden bow that had been painted black, and a quiver of poisoned arrows. At his hip was tied his grotesquely serrated dagger, with which he often tortured his victims before killing them with one swift stroke. He had a lockpick in hand, but it was not necessary for the first door. It was already unlocked.

He crept inside, cautiously sniffing for anything else unusual. He located the source of the smell that was out of place, though it took effort to separate nearby smells from the stench of the garden outside. This room had many unusual features for one belonging to a house this grand. The room was almost completely bare, apart from a rotting bookcase, a wooden chair and a discarded table-leg.

The floor and shelves of this room were extremely dusty, but he could make out marks on the floor where additional pieces of furniture had been, including a bed. This interested him; one of the grandest rooms of this house was not being used for its original purpose. What interested him even more was the area in the middle of the room that had been recently dusted, and the bloodstain in the middle of room that he could both see and smell (as long as he ignored all floral scents), which would be indicative of a dead body being laid there whilst still wet with blood.

Deelus steered his thoughts away from the stain on the floor. He had learned to ignore his curiosity, and focused on the job at hand. He listened for the footsteps of any guards that might have been posted indoors, and opened the wooden door that connected this room with the corridor. Deelus exited the room, and glanced around the corridor. A swarm of new smells, sounds and flavours greeted him, all coming from downstairs.

The flavours of roasting meat, smoke, and red wine filled the air, making him hunger and wish he were down there in the banquet hall with them. The voices and laughter of those below echoed and ricocheted through the manor. Deelus dismissed more impulses that would have stood in the way of him completing his contract, and found the door to the master bedroom. This door was locked, so he dexterously picked the lock with a lockpick held in his expert fingertips.

He glanced around the room, searching for hiding places. His eyes settled on the large bed in the middle of the room, under which he promptly hid. He relaxed his muscles, preparing to wait the many long hours it would take for the bed's owners to arrive. Gradually his sense of hearing became heightened, and his other senses dimmed. He covertly listened to the events happening below.

Unfortunately, there are some things that cannot seen or heard. Galthor was an experienced magic user, and was fuelled by his paranoia to periodically cast spells that would detect the presence of assassins such as Deelus. When Galthor cast detect life and saw the magical silhouette of a person in his bedroom, he knew that something was amiss. All of the guards, servants, and occupants of the manor knew to stay within their designated spaces at all times, lest they experience Galthor's wrath.

There was a reason why Nirwen had chosen the room with the balcony for the black sacrament. She knew that he avoided the room, so it was almost always out of range of his magic. In the hours of daylight he frequented the room directly below that room, but the Dark Brotherhood came with the shadows of the night. Galthor lived with a strict routine, so Nirwen knew that there was no chance of him detecting any unwelcome visitors if they entered through the balcony during the night. Deelus didn't know this, and had proceeded beyond the room with the balcony to a hiding spot that had seemed more secure.

Galthor sent a group of his personal guards upstairs to fetch the intruder. Deelus tried to fight back, but his advantages in the shadows became his disadvantages when his presense was discovered. He had trained to kill his targets whilst they were still unaware. He was easily captured and disarmed, because could not defeat multiple guards when his cover was blown. The guards escorted the assassin down the stairs, and he felt dread.

Galthor had a smooth, angled face, silvery-blond hair and icy blue eyes. Deelus tried to look around the room as the guards pushed him against the wall, but the intensity of the elf's icy gaze made it impossible for him to shift his. The elf pulled an antique elven shortsword off its bracket on the wall and swiftly cut the Argonian's throat. The casual drip of blood onto the dark wooden floorboards could have been mistaken for rain.


	2. Neurosis

**"Neiriel" is pronounced NAY-ree-el, and the abbreviation "Neia" is like Princess Leia.**

* * *

Sun's Dawn 25, 3E433

* * *

I was going to do it. There was no way they could stop me. I was almost giddy with laughter. I could see the blade rending flesh; the crimson blood gushing out; the shadows approaching…

No, not yet; my image of perfection wasn't complete; I didn't have a victim. But I would find a victim; I would find someone, and with the thrust of a blade, would turn them into a corpse. I had to; it was the only way...

"Neia," said someone nearby, and I was pulled back to reality.

"Yes?" I said in a monotone, and turned slowly to face my cousin Theredhel.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm sitting on the branch of an oak tree, above a river."

"Apart from that," said Theredhel, rolling her eyes. "You've been so withdrawn lately, what's going on?" She climbed up the tree and sat next to me.

"I've been thinking about my parents," I lied, though what I said wasn't unrelated to what I had really been thinking about. My parents died when I had been not much older than an infant. It had been my obsession since I had been old enough to understand that Theredhel and I didn't share the same parents. It wasn't until recently that I had discovered that my parents and grandmother had been murdered.

"Thinking about them won't bring them back, and you can't even remember them anyway, right?"

"I know it's pointless," I said. Despite that fact, I was still curious about who had killed them and why. I was sure that my guardians had not told me the full truth. They hadn't told me that my parents had been murdered until I had reached the age of 15, and that had been a mere slip of the tongue. I had thought about that for weeks, and finally deduced that my extended family was embarrassed by the murder that had killed three of their kin.

"Then why do you keep thinking about them?"

"I don't know," I said, staring off into the green expanse of the forest. We sat together; our attachment to each other was that of two sisters.

Finding out that my parents and grandmother had been murdered had had a strange effect on me, almost an addiction. I had tried to trace the source of my obsession amongst my memories, but my searches were in vain.

* * *

My guardians were my aunt and uncle. My aunt Hilawen was my father's sister, who had married the lumberjack Enthor several years before the marriage of my parents. Enthor and Hilawen's daughter Theredhel was seventeen, and a year older than me. I had brown hair and green eyes; the other three shared my brown hair, but their eyes were blue. The four of us lived in a wooden house in the forest on the fringe of Valenwood.

After supper, My aunt cornered her outside the house. "Neiriel, Theredhel told me that you have been thinking about the deaths of your parents a lot lately."

"Maybe a little," I said reluctantly, surprised that my aunt knew about the conversation between Theredhel and me earlier that day.

"Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?" asked Hilawen. She could tell that that it was more complicated than mere distraction.

"Not really."

"Talking helps," she insisted. "You don't have to talk to me; you could talk to Theredhel tomorrow."

"Fine," I said. Hilawen went back inside, but I hesitated. I stood there admiring the blackness of the sky, and wondering what I was going to tell Theredhel tomorrow to get my aunt off my back. I certainly wasn't going to tell her everything, but Theredhel was the person I trusted most of all in the world.

* * *

Sun's Dawn 26, 3E433

* * *

My almost-sister and I ran together in the forest until we reached the river, then I climbed the oak tree, closely followed by Theredhel. We talked about inconsequential things for a while, before our conversation shifted to the problem at hand.

"My mother seems to think that there is more to it than just you being preoccupied about the deaths of your parents," said Theredhel reluctantly, as if not wishing to embarrass me.

"Well, she is sort of right…"

"…And?"

I reluctantly continued. "When I think about the murders of my parents and our grandmother, there is a strange feeling."

"Is it fear? Sadness?"

"It might be…"

Without intending to do so, I went back to that strange state of mind to relive that strange feeling. Once it had taken over, my mind was filled with an uncontrollable obsession. There wasn't any of my normal self left to feel revulsion at the nature of my obsession. I had an irrepressible urge to kill.

Theredhel was silent for a while, but then realised that I had fallen completely silent and still. She must have presumed that I was trying to determine what the feeling was. "What is it? Terror?" she asked.

I was unable to respond.

"Neiriel?"

I reached up with my hand and lightly brushed my lips, puzzled. I was unable to speak, and that darkness of obsession still coursed through me. I couldn't kill Theredhel, though. I needed to find the right person.

"Neiriel, are you ok?" said Theredhel, concerned.

I pondered the girl next to me on the branch above the river, and whether or not to dispel the strange feeling, and decided not to.

Theredhel seemed to realise that I was unconscious or in a trance state. She pulled one of my pointed ears, which I guessed was an attempt to get my attention. Unfortunately this didn't work. I sat there on the tree branch in that transfixed state, with a strange look in my eyes.

Theredhel resorted to more drastic measure and shook me, but in her panic she forgot the precarious position we were in above the river. We both slipped off the tree branch and into the murky water of the river below. The sudden cold exploded around me, brutally shattering my trance. When the shock of the fall had passed, I swum up to break the surface of the gently flowing water.

* * *

Sun's Dawn 27, 3E433

* * *

Remnants of the "trance" still remained, even after it was broken. That dark state of mind returned to me whilst I dreamed that night, and woke me up just after midnight. Its strength and seamlessness were alarming, but its pull was irresistible; it was more than a mere anomaly. For some strange reason I had lost my ability to speak.

When the house was silent except for the sounds of the asleep, I sneaked out. There was no way they could stop me. I could see my knife slicing the flesh of my victim; the crimson blood gushing out to greet the world. I couldn't yet see the victim, so I would search for them.

I collected my bow and quiver of arrows, and then searched the hiding place for my knife. I had impulsively stolen the elegant dagger several days beforehand, with the intention of bringing silence. Impatient, I stole a horse before riding towards Cyrodiil, where my parents had died. Though I wanted to go to the place where my parents had died, it was too far away, so I would instead go to Skingrad.

I crossed a bridge over the Strid River. The hooves of my stolen horse thudded a rhythm on the wooden boards of the bridge. As dawn broke, I crossed the border from Valenwood into Cyrodiil. The bright morning light caught in my brown hair, making it burn like fire.

* * *

Sun's Dawn 28, 3E433

* * *

I entered Skingrad from its eastern gate. The city was no longer silent by the time I arrived, and I observed that it was a city of many levels. As I had approached the city, I'd seen the raised path from the city to Castle Skingrad. The banners hung on the stone walls of the city and the uniforms and shields of the guards were red and black, like blood and death.

The darkness within me urged me on. I looked at each of the citizens as they passed by, and one in particular caught my eye. He was a Bosmer like me, and like my parents had been. He, like my parents, was a Wood Elf in a strange land, and was also going to be silenced. I seemed to have caught his eye too, because he approached me.

"We can't talk here," he began. "Too public. Meet me behind the Great Chapel at midnight. Don't let anyone follow you. I'll make it worth your while." This puzzled me. Someone who wants to die in a secluded location at the depth of the night.? I would have asked him his name, but the darkness didn't let me. He was unperturbed by her silence. He seemed to have deluded himself that he himself had caused my silence.

The opportunity had presented itself, and I would only need to wait until midnight to satisfy my urge to kill. Whilst I waited for midnight I further explored the city of Skingrad. From a distance, my eyes continued to watch all of the citizens of the city. They were like ants, so small and their little pleasures, fears and grudges so insignificant compared to the size of the darkness that had grown within me.

Despite all of my obsessions and recent endeavours, this forest of stone still astounded me.

* * *

I sat on the grass with my back against the city wall. I faced the back window of the Great Chapel of Julianos. I stared at the stained-glass impression Stendarr on the back wall of the church, before which the unnamed Bosmer would stand in but a few minutes' time. My bow and quiver were slung over my back, and right hand was at my left hip, on the hilt of my dagger. I closed my eyes.

Days before I left Valenwood I had practised with the dagger on trees of the forest, preparing for this moment. There was no way they could stop me. I couldn't speak to become giddy with laughter. I could already see my knife tearing through the flesh of my victim…

I heard footsteps approaching, thus opened my emerald green eyes. I slowly stood up, all the while retaining my grip on the dagger at my hip. He, the schizophrenic Bosmer walked into view and came to a stop in front of the stained-glass window. He didn't seem to notice my aggressive pose, or the approaching darkness of his death.

He walked up to her and began speaking. "Ah, you came. You're sure you weren't followed."

I was amused at his ignorance. I had been the one relying on him not being followed.

He continued on without noticing my silence. "Good, I thought I could trust you. Nobody else in town…"

I unsheathed my dagger, holding it in a grip that pointed the curved blade away from my thumb and towards my elbow. My deep emerald eyes stared into his. I wasn't listening to his prattling anymore; I was entirely focused of the part I played. I prepared to re-enact the method of my parents' death.

"…they report to. Will you help me?" the elf looked at me expectantly, and I imagined that he looked like my father had. I was controlled entirely by that strange darkness within me. I held the dagger between the two of us.

Sudden realisation hit him. "You're one of them! I have to get away. Help! Help!" His pleading cries would not be heard; this man had willingly placed himself in a secluded location, and the guards would presumably have experienced many false alarms.

I struck him in the chest with my dagger, and he fell to the ground. He still managed to find his lungs, and the Chapel behind him inspired his screams. "Nine divines, help me! Guards! I'm being murdered for real this time!"

I stabbed him twice more in the chest, then once in the throat. He became dead; a corpse in a pool of his own blood. I wiped my blade clean, and then returned it to its scabbard. I glanced at my hands, and saw that their pale skin had been stained red with blood.

The darkness inside me was less pronounced now, and I was bothered by having to wash the blood off my skin and clothes. I could feel the blackness slowly subsiding, but couldn't yet use the power of speech. I did not know it at the time, but my killing had been a signal to a group of strangers indicating that I was ready to join them. I turned her back on the unnamed elf, and walked away.


	3. Mother

Sun's Dawn 11, 3E420

* * *

Lucien was disappointed. He stared into Deelus's glassy, dead eyes as if he were scolding a child. Fishermen had found him floating in the Niben earlier that morning, and Lucien had travelled from the Imperial City just to look in his dead Silencer's eyes. Deelus lay dead and his contract did not.

He offered the silent corpse one last chance to beg for forgiveness, then turned his back and walked away. He mounted Shadowmere and rode off into the distance. Others still surrounded the body, including the men who had found the body, a pair of foresters and some local farmers. They stared at the black smudge disappearing over the horizon, bewildered.

* * *

_Greetings, Listener, you have come before you are due. I need not ask why. Lucien Lachance's Silencer failed his contract, so now kneels by Sithis. Lucien is capable of choosing a new Silencer, so what is it that is bothering you?_

Dearest Night Mother, Deelus was killed by his own recklessness. Surely, the Silencer reflects the Speaker who chose him? Though he has been made a Speaker, Lucien is still a youngster.

_Lucien may be young, but he is an experienced and highly skilled assassin. His skill may even surpass your own in a few years' time. Yes, it was a careless mistake on his part to appoint Deelus as his Silencer, and to assign him this style of contract. Deelus was good at planning for contracts, but was never good at improvising._

Yes, but how is that going to help complete this contract?

_Time is of the essence. __It would take too long for a new Silencer to be selected for Lucien. __He should be the one who assassinates the Bosmer couple._

How can time be of the essence? Are Galthor and Sylaen going to leave Cyrodiil?

_I cannot say, but this contract is essential._

Why Lucien? Surely another Speaker's silencer, or another Speaker if necessary, could complete it?

_It must be Lucien Lachance; there is no other alternative. The problem you will discover is in convincing the other Speakers who, __like you, doubt Lucien's abilities._

Surely, the Speakers obey the Listener. I, the Listener hear the will of the Night Mother.

_I cannot reveal to you or any current member of the Brotherhood all that is planned for our family. It is the will of Sithis that the plan remains secret until it has been realised. You cannot tell you Speakers that it is my will for Lucien to complete the contract. You must find another way._

Yes, Dearest Night Mother.

_Leave me now, dear Listener, and serve our Dread Father._

Marus Larocius shivered as the connection between himself and the Night Mother was severed. He stepped away from the statue of the Lucky Old Lady, and stroked his greying beard. He thought for a while, and then walked into the shadows and out of the sun's gaze. When in the shadows, he sighed and shook his head.

* * *

The door of the Lonely Suitor Lodge opened, allowing some of the warm air to escape into the cold night. In the doorway stood a young man; he was an Imperial with brown eyes and brown hair. He wore simple clothes and had a silver shortsword at his hip. His eyes were alert, his stance cautious and his hand never strayed far from the hilt of his weapon. The whole room seemed to be silently impatient, so the man crossed the threshold and the door closed behind him.

Taking a curved route around the counter, the man reached his destination: a table where two people were already seated. In the Lonely Suitor Lodge, the chairs are arranged with two per table. The man shifted a worn wooden chair from an unoccupied table to the table he intended to sit at. Neither of the table's occupants glanced at the man as he sat at the table.

To the young man's left was another Imperial, whose hair and beard were greying. He had a weathered face and weary blue eyes. To the young man's right was a woman. She was a Redguard with a heavily wrinkled face and light brown hair. Her fierce brown eyes stared across the room, in the direction of a dark-haired Breton woman.

The young man was the first to speak. "Marus," he said.

"Lucien," responded Marus Larocius.

Lucien Lachance shifted his gaze towards the woman and said "Sashana."

Sashana didn't shift her gaze the slightest as she responded in kind. "Lucien."

"Listener, wha…" started Lucien.

"Still your tongue, boy," Sashana sharply interrupted, gesturing with her eyes "That woman, Luciana Galena, is of the Thieves' Guild."

The table was silent for a long moment before Lucien spoke again, with an intense look in his brown eyes. "I am not a child."

"That is beside the point Lucien, Sashana," Marus interjected, looking at each of them as he said their name.

The table was again silent.

Sashana was the one who broke the silence. "What is to be done about the… problem?"

"I could return to select a new _assistant_," suggested Lucien, his tongue tripping slightly with the unfamiliarity of the last word.

"Your previous actions do not reflect well your ability to choose assistants," said Marus.

"I could put my assistant on the task," suggested Sashana. "He has served me well for years."

"Though I commend your assistant's ability to survive for so long…" Lucien fluidly began.

"Silence," Marus interrupted, sensing that Lucien was about to speak ill of Sashana's Silencer.

The listener didn't wish for his Black Hand to be eradicated by its own squabbles. There was a reason that members of the Dark Brotherhood, especially the Black Hand, never ate together. Despite them being family, all members of Brotherhood were murderers. Within sanctuaries, it is common practise for family members to check food, especially apples, for signs of being poisoned.

Both Speakers were silent, and obeyed their Listener.

Marus Larocius looked at each of them and spoke in a whisper so subtle that Lucien and Sashana, as close as they were, had to strain their ears to hear him.  
"This is Lucien's contract, so remains his responsibility. There is a reason that he was chosen for Speaker instead of assassins who are older and more experienced. If we do not entrust him to contracts, his talent will be wasted. Lucien himself should complete this contract."

He slightly raised one of his fingers in the female Speaker's direction.  
"Sashana, I know you will disagree and remind us of the fact that the dead Silencer Deelus was older than his Speaker. Though it was a mistake for Lucien to appoint Deelus as his Silencer, the Argonian was an asset to the Brotherhood. What he lacked in his common sense he made up with his excellent ability to plan complex assassinations. Yes, it was Lucien's mistake to assign that particular contract to Deelus, rather than to himself or to a family member within his sanctuary, but I am sure he will not make the same mistake twice.  
"Lucien should be the one to kill Galthor and Sylaen. He should act quickly so that business can return to normal, and so that he can choose a new Silencer."

When Marus finished the table was finally in silent agreement. After a moment Lucien spoke in a voice just as quiet. "Why did you request that we meet here, of all places?"

Marus raised one of his eyebrows. "It's for several reasons."

"Well, for one, there are witnesses in case we are inclined to kill each other," interrupted Sashana. She couldn't speak anywhere near as quietly as the other two when she whispered.

"The main reason is that this lodge is guaranteed to contain spies for the Thieves' Guild and, of course, the young watchman Phillida. That Bosmer Galthor may have chosen to employ spies of his own, with all the attention the Brotherhood is paying to him," said Marus.

"And we're going to give them false information?" asked Lucien.

"Exactly," said Marus.

"Listen carefully, boy," began Sashana. "We raise the volume of our voices gradually, and speak in a code that anyone who intends to spy on the Brotherhood will understand. Your earlier use of the word assistant instead of Silencer is a good example of the code. Gradually getting louder as we speak allows any spies around to hear us without them being aware that we intend for them to hear us."

"What false information are they going to hear from us?"

"You two are trying to find out from me what part of Cyrodiil we will be staging a major contract in, I will tell you," said Marus. "This, along with other false information they have gathered will lead them to jump to a conclusion that would explain our recent activities, but will ultimately lead them off track. Let us begin."

Lucien's eyes appeared to betray a flicker of emotion and his lips moved fast as began he speak again, but his words were still incomprehensible to others in the Lodge. All who intended to listen in but had so far failed took interest in this sudden change in the conversation, and instinctively leaned slightly towards the table where the people sat.

* * *

The blonde-haired elf paced the room, deep in thought. Galthor knew the current location of every person who lived or worked in the house. His wife was with his child in the nursery on the ground floor of the house, across the hall from the kitchen. His mother was in the basement; she slept most of the day and preferred to sleep in the servant's quarters. He could not doubt that Nirwen was going senile.

None of the servants were currently upstairs. Two of them were in the kitchen and three were in the garden; the remaining nine were in the basement. He was only allowing a few servants out of the basement at a time.

The manor's guards he trusted more, because he paid them more. That didn't stop him from casting spells of the revelation and checking to see if they were in their assigned positions with each of his laps of the room.

There were three stationary guards at the main entrance to the manor, two at the secret entrance that only he and his guards knew about, three at strategic points of the courtyard, one outside each door that led into the actual house and three guards per floor inside the house. There were also an additional 16 guards patrolling the space between where the stationary guards stood. The house had three floors, including the basement, and four entrances, including the doors that led to the each of the two balconies. This added up to a total of 34 guards defending the house at any one time, and 22 sleeping in the barracks.

He was sure that someone in the house was responsible for sending the assassin after him. His family back in Valenwood hadn't heard from him since he left, and if they had wanted to kill him they would have acted by now. He wasn't known among the local farmers or the citizens of the nearest city; few have even heard of him. He ran the list of people currently in the house and grounds through his head.

He considered the list of workers and the possibility that one of the guards had taken advantage of the female servants, but then dismissed the idea. He didn't pay his servants well enough for them to afford the Dark Brotherhood's services. Also, one guard wouldn't send an assassin to kill another, because the guards were capable of killing without the aid of the Brotherhood.

He was sure that the target was himself or another member of his family. The Dark Brotherhood's involvement confirmed that the target was someone who the guards were protecting.

The three remaining suspects were Sylaen, Nirwin and Ronolf the Fearless, the captain of Galthor's hired guards. Galthor hated the idea of one of his family plotting the death of another, but Galthor trusted that Ronolf valued honour too highly and had more to gain with Galthor and his family alive.

Galthor knew that Sylaen was too deeply in love with him and their daughter to seek the death of them, so narrowed the possibilities down to two. Either his mother Nirwen seeks the death himself, Sylaen, and their daughter, or Sylaen seeks the death of Nirwen. Either way, Galthor would side with Sylaen rather than his mother. Galthor had decided, and now knew how to act.

The light-haired elf exited his study and descended the stairs. He pulled the same antique weapon he had killed the Argonian with off its brackets, and headed towards another flight of stairs. These stairs led to the basement, where his mother was. Galthor descended into the Nirn.

Several of the servants glanced at Galthor as he entered the room. They did not look away when they saw the shortsword in his hand; they stared at him with silent shock in their frozen eyes. They could tell what the sword meant. If the sword had been dripping blood, then he would have _already_ caused harm to another living being. The sword was clean, so he was _going_ to cause harm to another living being.

Galthor approached the sleeping body of his mother, and prodded her with his left hand; his right hand was still tightly grasping the hilt of the sword. Nirwen gasped as she was suddenly pulled into a state of wakefulness. At first she only saw his ice-blue eyes, but then she saw the weapon. She jumped out of bed and attempted to flee, but he caught her and pushed her against the wall beside her chosen bed with his left hand.

She hesitated, but then began to speak. "How did you find out?" she croaked.

"I have my sources," said Galthor politely. He was bluffing, but he didn't want the mother whom he intended to kill that he had merely guessed it was her, and that she had just confirmed his guess. "You paid for an assassin to kill me, my wife and my daughter?"

"No, not the baby," she pleaded. "I would never hurt the baby."

"Then you would deny my child her parents?" his voice finally broke, if only slightly, from its polite tone. Galthor raised the blade slightly.

"No… have mercy," begged Nirwen. Tears started pouring from her hazel eyes and drew roughly vertical lines down her wrinkled face.

"You sent the Dark Brotherhood after me, Mother."

He felt he was compassionate about the way he killed her; she did give life to him, after all. He made it quick; the antique shortsword sliced her throat in a single swift movement. As her lifeless body fell to the floor like a puppet having had its strings cut, his ice-blue eyes filled with tears. Behind him, the servants started screaming.

* * *

Three people left the Lonely Suitor Lodge together. They strolled across the bridge in an informal formation towards the city gates. All three were wearing the simple clothes of peasants. One of them glanced at the statue of the Lucky Old Lady as they passed it, but the other two paid it no attention.

One of them, the man who had looked at the statue, suddenly froze. The other two also stopped a split second later, and turned to face him. "Nirwen is dead," he whispered with his gaze focused on a distant object that only he could see. After the man's demeanour returned to normal, the people continued on towards the city gates as if nothing had occurred.


	4. Reunion

First Seed 1, 3E433

* * *

The darkness receded by the time that dawn broke, and became but a blip in the corner of my mind. My mind had broken free from the murderous urges of the night before. This was a relief to me, but it troubled me that it was only possible because I had satisfied these urges. It would still be several hours before my thoughts cleared completely.

With my clearing thoughts came a deep sense of revulsion at my actions of the night before. Though I had long since washed all traces of the blood off my hands, I kept catching myself fidgeting. I had to keep reminding myself to not draw the attention of the world to the the hands that had recently been covered with the blood of another human being, whom I had murdered. In my mind's eye my hands were scarred with the death of the unnamed Bosmer, and were stained with his blood.

Though I hadn't slept in one day and one night, I couldn't relax enough to lose consciousness. I was afraid that if I lost conscious control of myself, even for a short time, that I would kill again. I longed to return to my home in the forests of Valenwood, but knew that I could not. I didn't know why, but I knew that I could not return.

I carefully listened into the townspeople's conversations for anything that might relate to last night's murder, but heard nothing. Either the city didn't know of it yet, or didn't care. I felt relief that I had killed a townsperson who would not be missed by the others. I felt guilt that I felt this relief, and that I had stolen the life of a person who had been mistreated by society.

I spent hours wandering aimlessly, avoiding other people, and trying not to appear suspicious. The only person I approached was the woman in the West Weald Inn, who managed to interpret my mute gestures. I paid for the room and tucked the key into my pocket, but then walked out of the Inn. I watched the townspeople from a distance, marvelling at their complex social order until dusk, when all but the beggars and guards had fled indoors.

I eventually had no choice but to return to the Inn. By that time, only the latest of drinkers sat at the tables; some of them were even unconscious. I feared that I would be unconscious soon also, and took my time walking up the stairs to delay that moment. I eventually had to face the bed.

The bed wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but I would have much preferred to sleep at home. The sheets were above average in quality, but they could have been a clever way hiding an assortment of pest species. I further delayed the inevitable by taking time to think about what else I could do to delay what I dreaded. I hadn't slept in at least one and a half days, and I had only slept once since I left Valenwood, but I still tried to convince myself that I wasn't tired.

I lay down on the bed and stared up into the ceiling. I admired the elegance of the woodwork used to keep the ceiling up and just lay there for a while, with eyes open. I eventually and reluctantly surrendered to my tiredness and sunk into a deep sleep.

* * *

I felt fear as a hand suddenly reached out and touched me. I awoke and jumped to my feet, with adrenaline rushing through my veins and my heart beating quickly and audibly. I tried to slow my breathing, and was puzzled as to why I had had such a disturbing feeling that had ended my sleep so suddenly. I looked around the room to be sure that I was alone.

I was not; brown eyes met my emerald green. A dark-clad figure stood in front of me. The man who had interrupted my slumber wore robes as black as midnight, and his face was hidden in the shadow of his black hood; there wasn't a part of him not covered by dark-coloured cloth or leather. Terror filled me. I had no weapons within my reach; my bow and dagger were on the other side of the room. I stared intensely into the brown eyes of the intruder, but could not control my shaking limbs. I was sure I was about to die.

"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer," he said in a deep, dark voice. Each word he said was carefully measured. He seemed to muse over the word 'soundly' as he voiced it.

Something about the malevolence of his voice was familiar to me, like a half-remembered dream.

"That's good," he continued with an ever deepening voice. "You'll need a clear conscience for what I am about to propose." His sentence ended on a deeper note still, disclosing a dark purpose behind those simple words.

The alliteration of 'clear conscience' echoed in my head as I listened, tempting me to listen to his words in significance.

"You prefer silence, then? As do I, my dear child. As do I. For is silence not the symphony of death, the orchestration of Sithis himself?" He spoke with the delicacy of a poet, the last few words a half-whisper. With them, he drew slightly nearer to me.

Dread filled my heart, as the darkness again took over my mind. It was not the same as last time; there was no thrill for murder; there was only fear. I stepped backwards away from the man and bumped into the bed in which I had moments before been sleeping. The robed man waited expectantly, but I couldn't speak to respond. I could only listen.

"Ironic, then, that I come to you now as Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood," he said with a slightly lighter, more lilting tone. "My name is Lucien Lachance, and my voice… is the will… of the Night Mother." The matron of whom Lucien Lachance spoke was unknown to me, but he spoke of her with great admiration and love. It was as if the Night Mother was really the assassin's mother.

I heard his every word, but the information from my other sensors was twisted and convoluted. The terror in my heart doubled; my legs were shaking too much so I was forced to sit on the bed behind me. The Dark Brotherhood…

He again spoke in a lighter tone. "She's been watching you. Observing as you kill, admiring as you end life without pity or remorse." In each phrase he made one word accented and melodious.

My head involuntarily turned slightly to the left, reflecting my thoughts of objection. I couldn't control the tears that filled my eyes.

He didn't miss this, and his voice turned serious. "You need not show guilt for my benefit, the Dark Brotherhood understands. I… understand."

Every word struck a dreadful chord somewhere within my mind. I wanted to explain that I had had no choice; that I had committed murder against my will. He thought I was acting.

"The Night Mother knows of your eagerness, your enjoyment of the slaughter of the elf Glarthir," he said with the glibness of an Imperial.

I couldn't control the tears leaking out. Once started, the tears are unstoppable. I was embarrassed because many people have misunderstood my occasional inability to control my emotions, and become angry with me because I was crying. My eyes were fogged and I was forced to wipe them with my sleeve.

Lucien moved faster than I could react, using the moment of distraction to twist his arm around the back of my neck and press the flat part of a blade against my throat. "Don't cry, child," he whispered in my left ear.

I slowly lowered my hand from my face, as to not provoke him, and opened my eyes. I blinked several times, and struggled not to panic. I didn't turn my head to look at him; instead I stared straight ahead. I could see a field of blackness in my peripheral vision.

"The Night Mother is most pleased," he said with a voice deeper and darker than any I'd heard before. The assassin shifted his position slightly so that he was facing me directly, crouched over so that his face was level with mine.

The blade of his dagger was still pressed against my throat. Because of his proximity to me, I could distinguish the features of his face that had before been completely hidden by the shadow of his hood. He had the face of a nobleman. How could a man so refined have a heart so dark and corrupted? I was sure that I would soon lose control of my emotions completely, and that he was only moments away from slitting my throat. I was at his mercy.

He continued to speak in the same deep voice. "That is why I stand here before you. I bear an offering. An opportunity… to join our rather unique family…" His voice was not a monotone; the dark tone had a melody unto itself.

I was sure that I never wanted to see this man again. I felt hope because his words spoke of a choice that I could make. If he kept his word, I was not cornered. There were multiple outcomes that I could choose between. I just needed to survive long enough to hear him out.

"So, I have your rapt attention," he said with a lighter, almost amused tone. "Splendid."

I realised that I had stopped crying.

"Now listen closely," he began with a businesslike manner. "Northwest of here along the Gold Road lies the crowning glory of the Imperial Legion, the Imperial City. In the Elven Gardens district you will find a man named…" he paused dramatically. "…Lorkmir." Lucien Lachance darkly articulated the man's name, then continued with the voice of death himself. "Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete." He said this with great authority, as if his voice alone would bring Lorkmir's death.

He reached out with his left hand and traced a line down my cheek with his gloved finger. I shivered, but didn't dare move lest he kill me. I was at his mercy.

"Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love… of your new family." I was once again astounded by the dark depth of his voice.

Lucien finally released his grip around my neck and tucked the dagger away. His movements were swift, precise, and could only be the result of many years of practise. I only managed to see the slightest glint of silver blade before it was stowed away among the black folds of his robes. Finally free from his grip, but still afraid of him, I shook my head timidly.

"No? The Night Mother seems to think otherwise," he said in a slightly less smooth voice than before, as if he were surprised or amused. "Allow me to grant you this gift, in case you reconsider." With his last few words, he was almost mocking me.

He presented me with an ebony dagger. I didn't see where it had come from; Lucien Lachance had the speed and dexterity of a prestidigitator. I didn't examine the blade, but I could tell it was of a high quality.

"It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well, as does your silence." The last few words he whispered, emphasising his words.

He curiously stared at me for a moment. I stared back, confused. Was he deliberating whether I was what he was looking for as a recruit? Was he deliberating whether he should kill me after all?

"Now, I bid you farewell. I do hope… we'll meet again soon." His last words drifted away into the darkness, and he so did he.

I could just make out his shape as he carefully opened the door and closed it behind him without making a sound. A strange magic had turned his hooded form into a moving shadow, almost a black mist. I had seen a chameleon spell before, but this was something… darker. Though he had already left, I could still remember clearly having seen the door through him.

* * *

Clarity; I had gained that from meeting Lucien Lachance. Before, my life before now had been a lie. I had seen myself from a distance; I had never been myself.

When I had found out that my parents had been murdered I had gained a purpose. When I began plotting to kill someone I had gained access to levels of my consciousness I had not been aware of, but I had also gained an inability to control myself. When I had killed I had lost my soul and gained nothing but guilt. I hadn't satisfied my urge to kill either; my urge to kill would take over again.

I did not have control of myself yet, but I had clarity. I wasn't seeing myself from a distance. I wasn't following the flow of the river anymore. I could sense the entirety of my being.

I was aware of every urge, desire and thought that I had. I still had no control over my impulses, but I was completely aware. I knew that I would never be able to speak my mind again. I was enslaved by my desires, and that terrified me.

My prison, the darkness, was only generous enough to let tears roll down my face as I noiselessly cried. I cried because of my predicament. I cried because I had met a man as frightening as Lucien Lachance. I cried because I was tired and hadn't had satisfactory sleep for days. Most of all I cried because I knew that despite how much I didn't want to, I would eventually meet Lucien Lachance again.

* * *

**By the way, sorry for the use of complicated words such as "prestidigitator". A prestidigitator is sleight-of-hand artist, like a card magician.**


	5. Artistry

**If you have any ideas for assassination contracts, please send them to me via PM or review.**

* * *

Sun's Dawn 12, 3E420

* * *

The rotting flowers had lost most of their pungency. Despite this fact, Lucien still avoided breathing too heavily. He stood outside the manor grounds, close to the external wall. He wasn't inside the grounds because of the increased alertness of the guards; instead he was using a detect life spell to see the guards through the wall.

Lucien Lachance would not call himself a skilled magician, but he did know a useful assortment of spells. He had learnt basic magic from a Bosmer Assassin who had been his sister when he had been a mere Murderer, until she had been killed during a contract. His favoured branch of magic was illusion, which was most useful in his profession. His long-dead sister had taught him the chameleon spell that he did still seek to master. Though Lucien preferred to use a minimum number of spells in his contracts, the circumstances of this contract had made use of magic unavoidable.

Lucien struggled to maintain the spell; Mysticism had never been one of his strengths. He had already planned the bulk of the assassination, but the first part was as yet undetermined. He could observe the manor from above by climbing one of the tall trees in the not-to-distant forest, but could not act from that distance. He thought for a moment, and then an idea occurred.

* * *

Sun's Dawn 13, 3E420

* * *

Even before dawn broke, the birds began to sing. A group of tiny Niben finches flitted around the manor as the first rays of light escaped from the horizon. As a group they settled on the roof, then the ground, then a small shrub, then a small patch of violet-coloured flowers that had not rotted away. It was as if they were indecisive, and never content with any of those places.

The guards in the courtyard paid the birds no notice. They did not even notice when the birds started pecking at the violet-coloured flowers, or when they started flying in unusual patterns. The guards just kept a lookout for intruders, which they were well paid to do. They were not paid to observe the birdlife of the area, or to question what would be categorised as an intruder.

The finches were indeed exhibiting odd behaviour patterns. They pecked at the violet-coloured flowers, gathered individual flowers in their beaks, flew towards the centre of the courtyard, and dropped them into the well; the birds' chosen flowers sprinkled down the well and landed in the water. The oddest thing about the birds' behaviour was that it was beyond their instinct for self-preservation.

The violet-coloured flowers were nightshades, which are a resilient but highly poisonous species of flower. The birds had acted against their instincts to stay away from such flowers, so had most definitely been poisoned. Before the day's end, those birds would be dead. Not even a freak of nature could cause a creature as joyous as a bird to willingly send its soul to Sithis.

* * *

When the residents of the manor were about to awaken, and the birds were all but forgotten, the servants began to work. One of them, a young maid, went out into the yard to collect water from the well. She, along with the other servants, was terrified of her employer. Most of the servants had been witness to Galthor's bloody execution of his own mother.

She didn't even notice that the water in the bucket she carried was full of flowers as she re-entered the house. Once inside, she was intercepted by the paranoid elf Galthor. He examined the contents of the bucket, and saw the poisonous flowers. The maid did her best to not betray her terror as he shouted at her.

Luckily, the elf didn't kill her. He sent her out again with a fresh bucket, and permitted her to exit the grounds of the manor. The young maid thanked the nine divines for her good fortune. She set out towards the Niben River, fighting tears.

* * *

Lucien waited by the river. He sat on a rare dry-patch of grass in the eternal humidity, overlooking the wide expanse of the Niben. The opposite side of the river was almost but not quite beyond the horizon. As he waited, he whistled an uncharacteristically cheerful tune.

The assassin was disguised in the simple clothes of a peasant, though they had been dyed a shade or two darker than what was customary. At his hip was a basic shortsword, but he also had a few concealed weapons of a higher grade including a dagger in each of his boots. Also tied to his belt was a small bag made of rough cloth, like the material commonly used to make sacks for grain. Most out of place of all for him was his demeanour; he was feigning the cheerful air of a bard.

He heard her footsteps approaching, and then heard her halt as she heard his merry tune. She then continued on towards the river, more cautiously than before. She walked past him as if he weren't there, but couldn't completely hide her fear. She dipped her bucket into the cool water of the river, careful not to collect any river mud in the process.

Lucien ceased his whistling and pointed in the vague direction of the river. "Can you see that over there?" he asked in a light-hearted tone.

The maid flinched, but she neither looked at him nor responded.

"It's a sacred lotus," he continued, unperturbed. He then stood up and walked beside her.

She looked him in the eye for the first time, and was somewhat surprised by his handsome features. He was about her age too; she guessed that he was around twenty. She blushed slightly, and couldn't stop herself from responding this time. "Yes, my mother used to collect their seeds," she said.

"An alchemist?" he asked.

She nodded.

"To minstrels, flowers have more uses than just those of alchemy. There is more beauty in the petals of a flower than can ever be seen," he said in a delicate, poetic tone.

"Are you a poet?" she asked. She had seemed confused when he had said the word 'minstrel'.

"Yes, but I rarely have the chance to test my poems on a beautiful woman such as yourself."

She blushed at his flattery.

"_Sacred lotus_," he began.

_Your beauty is a blessed sight_

_It glistens in the morning light_

_It wins my heart without a fight_

_And makes me yearn for you at night_"

As he recited the last line he lightly touched her on the shoulder and his hand softly glowed with magic, unbeknownst to her. The poem was certainly not Lucien's style; it hadn't even been written by him. It was from a book of not-so-subtle poems by a not-so-subtle Dunmer immigrant. Despite his irritation, the poem – in conjunction with the charm spell – did the trick.

"That was beautiful," she said, blushing doubly.

"As are you," he responded.

She could not suppress her impulses any longer. She wrapped her arms around him and started kissing him passionately. Her extreme reaction caught him off guard for a moment. He pushed her away, lest he lose control of the situation.

"Wait," he began. He gasped for breath, but then had to deflect another of her attempts to kiss him. He had been warned about that spell, but had not expected such powerful results. He placed a finger over her lips to stop her from trying a third time. She still had her arms around him, but couldn't get any nearer.

"There is something troubling you," he continued. "I can tell by your kiss. Will you tell me what it is?"

"Is it really that obvious?" she asked, breathless. Within moments her eyes were filled with tears. They did not trouble the assassin; he would be able to use her emotions. "It's my master, Galthor. I'm scared that he might kill me," she sobbed.

"Kill you? What makes you think that?" he asked.

"He's already killed his own mother. It could be me who's next," she choked. She released her grip and sank to the ground.

He settled down next to her and comforted her with an arm. "Well, we can't have that, can we?"

"Will you protect me? Oh please, by the nine, protect me," she begged.

"On my honour," he promised.

The maid hugged Lucien and played with his short brown hair. He resisted the urge to sigh, and hugged her back. He reached into the bag at his hip and pulled out an apple. He brought his lips to her ear and began to whisper.

"Here is what you need to do. Get him to eat this apple after he finishes his evening meal tonight, and all of your problems will be solved."

She turned her head so that she could see his face. "That will be easy," she said, trying to please him. "He always eats fresh fruit for supper. He also drinks warm milk before going to bed," she continued, giggling.

"Do it this evening, and I promise you that you will never have to worry about him again," he continued, entrancing her. He passed her the apple.

"Does it contain a potion?" she asked, glancing down at the apple.

"Yes, of a sort," he responded. He found her question amusing, but he was too well trained to laugh. He glanced at the discarded bucket, and she followed his gaze. "They might be wondering where you are," he said

"Yes, I should go back," she reluctantly said. She kissed him once more before rising. "Will I ever see you again?" she asked.

"Yes, I promise."

She picked her bucket up and departed. Lucien Lachance listened to her footsteps as they disappear off into the distance, and then walked towards the river. _Promises, so easily broken._ He dipped his hands into the cool water and washed his face.

* * *

Cooking smells arose from the kitchen of the manor as dusk broke. Lucien, still in his peasant clothes, again crouched on the wall above the archway overlooking the courtyard of the manor. Getting through the guards had not been easy this time. Getting to this point had taken a lot of his time and patience.

He crept along the top of the wall swiftly, though more cautiously than the first time. When he reached the clay-tiled roof of the manor, he didn't drop down onto the balcony. Instead he stayed there for a long time, relying on his ears and a detect life spell to determine what was happening below.

After a while, he knew everything. He knew where Galthor, his wife, their child and the servants were. He could tell that the Listener's information had been correct, the old woman Nirwen was no more. He memorised the stations and patrol patterns of each of the guards.

He knew that Galthor frequently cast spells to detect assassins like himself. He knew why Nirwen had carefully chosen the location of their first meeting. He knew that Galthor was a less experienced mage than himself. He knew that approaching Galthor in his usual disguise would be a mistake.

Lucien heard when dinner began below, so then prepared to act. Before he ended the detect life spell, he made sure of the position of the guard on the balcony below. He unsheathed one of his silver daggers and crept close to the edge of the roof. He manoeuvred the dagger into his favoured grip, and like a mountain lion he prepared to pounce. He waited for a different guard to turn around and head towards the stairs. He would only have a short time before that guard would return and check on the balcony.

He dropped down onto the balcony, and without hesitation began to dance towards the startled guard. Before the guard had time to react, Lucien grabbed him and carefully sliced his throat. Before the guard could bleed too much, Lucien quickly removed the guard's armour and wore it himself.

Putting on a set of heavy armour quickly was difficult, but he had trained himself. He was still putting on the helmet, and attaching the longsword to his belt as the patrol marched up the stairs. Lucien readied his magic.

As the guard entered the room – the same room that Nirwen had performed the Black Sacrament in – Lucien cast charm. He gestured to the dead guard lying face down on the floor.

"This man was sneaking around," explained Lucien.

"An assassin?" asked the young guard.

"Seems like the type," agreed Lucien. "You stay here, I'll inform our superior."

"Don't let him suspect us," warned the guard.

"We had nothing to do with this," assured Lucien.

Lucien took over the patrol of the young guard. The path of his patrol also took him down the stairs, and past the banquet hall. The main course of tonight's meal was still being consumed. Lucien quickly spoke with another guard who swapped patrols with him so that he could speak with the guard captain. The two guards who had spoken with Lucien, and who had seen the body of the 'assassin' were sure that the matter was being dealt with, and the rest of the guards were completely unaware. To Galthor's magically enhanced eyes, the same number of guards were still present in his home.

Lucien never spoke with the guard captain; he continued the patrol as if nothing was amiss. The patrol also took him past the banquet hall, so he would be able to tell when the maid is about to poison Galthor. Lucien perfectly impersonated a guard; no-one would know his true identity until it was too late. Lucien continued to patrol the house, waiting for the maid to act.

Eventually the elves finished all but one of the courses of their meal, and supper began. The maid came forward and offered Galthor the apple. He was surprised but very pleased. He accepted it from her and placed it on the table in front of him. The bright lights of the banquet hall were reflected on its shining red skin.

"Thank you," he said. He looked at Sylaen across the table. "My dearest wife, do want one too?" he asked.

"Yes, Husband," she responded.

"Another one then, please maid," he ordered the maid.

"Of course, milord," the maid promised, and then departed for the kitchen.

Galthor didn't start eating until the maid came back with another apple and had given it to Sylaen. He did not slice the apple himself, nor did he get another to slice it for him; he ate the apple as it was. His teeth tore through the vivid red skin of the apple to the white flesh underneath, and removed a chunk. He chewed happily and was ignorant of the poison until it was too late.

His face changed drastically to one of shock. The apple dropped from his grip and bounced once on the table, then onto the floor. He struggled to breathe and was foaming at the mouth. He quickly collapsed – his head landing heavily on the table – and his eyes glazed. Galthor of Valenwood was no more.

All who surrounded him bore fixed masks of shock. Sylaen was the first to scream. All who were not in the banquet hall ran in to investigate. The maid who had given Galthor the apple still couldn't find her vocal chords. Luckily for her, the others seemed to have forgotten the sequence of events.

One of the guards tried to revive the elf's corpse. A group of guards crowded around Sylaen and her daughter protectively. Others searched the house, looking for the assassin. The guard who had attempted to revive Galthor pronounced him dead.

Sylaen sobbed uncontrollably. Her young daughter looked around curiously; she didn't know what was going on, nor did she know why her mother was crying. Eventually the little girl grew too tired, so Sylaen took her to her bedroom. Sylaen didn't want to leave her daughter alone with or without the guards, so decided to spend the night in her child's room.

Most of the guards allowed the two elves privacy, but one insisted on staying in the room with them. Sylaen thanked him for his presence. She didn't want to be alone except for her daughter if the assassin somehow found his way in. She limited the number of guards to just one, however.

With a frayed voice Sylaen sang to her daughter a soft lullaby. She sang of faeries, butterflies and songbirds in an ancient elven tongue that had almost been completely forgotten. Her words traced a path into a distant past and a distant kingdom. Eventually the small form of the three-year-old drifted off into sleep.

Sylaen turned around to face the young guard, half expecting him to be dead in a pool of blood with the assassin standing over him. Instead the guard had a dagger in his hand, and a finger on his lips. She walked backwards into the wall behind her. He followed, and angled the dagger so that it was dangerously close to her throat.

"Don't scream, or you will wake the child," he murmured darkly.

"Why would a guard become an assassin?" she whispered, eyes wide with terror but still in control of her emotions.

"I never was a guard," he explained.

The assassin was young, she guessed between twenty and twenty-five. His youth struck her, and it had convinced her that he was a real guard. More than half of the guards that Galthor had hired were younger than thirty.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"I am doing this because your late husband's mother asked me to," he said in a deep dark voice.

"So it _was_ Nirwen," she breathed. "I can understand what she has against Galthor and me, but what about our child? What about little Neia? What does she have against her?"

"No, not little… Neia; the old woman specifically asked that the child be spared," he reassured Sylaen.

"Then that cow would deny my child her parents, and would raise her herself," she whispered angrily. "What is to be done about her now? Please sir, stand by your word and don't kill her."

"On my honour," he promised.

"So, are you from the Dark Brotherhood?" asked the elf widow.

"Yes."

"And you have been sent to kill me?"

"Yes."

"Let me say something first, before I go."

"Of course, my dear elf."

"I don't trust the guards or the servants to raise my child, and I don't want her to go to an orphanage. She needs a family in which to grow, to teach her and to protect her," said Sylaen.

"You want me to decide your child's fate?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes, there is no other option."

"This is an extremely uncommon occurrence," he said, thinking hard.

"Please, sir," she begged. "You can't leave her, or the guards will be left to decide her fate."

"If it is your wish," Lucien reluctantly said.

"Do as you will," Sylaen instructed and did not close her eyes. She looked death in the eye.

Lucien Lachance delicately brought the blade of his dagger through Sylaen's throat, and killed her. He examined the dagger and took pleasure from the sight of fresh blood covering its blade. He lowered the Bosmer woman's corpse to the ground, and gazed at the newly orphaned child asleep next to her. The small child called Neia was still unaware of what had just transpired.

As the assassin carefully wrapped the child with blankets and lifted her into his arms, Neia's emerald eyes opened slightly. She hadn't woken up; Lucien was being far too subtle for that to occur. With an armour-clad finger he delicately shifted a lock of her brown hair, exposing one of her pointed elven ears. He reached into the bag on his belt with his free hand and removed the chameleon potion that he had saved for his escape. Hopefully it was strong enough to shroud them both.


	6. Sorrow

First Seed 2, 3E433

* * *

Lucien Lachance stood outside the city walls, waiting for the girl to emerge from the gates. He had his back against the wall so that no-one would be able to see him unless they turned around to face the city immediately after exiting it and looking diagonally upwards to their right. Lucien was hiding in the shadows and shrouded in an illusion spell, so anyone specifically looking for him would also have to be an adept Mystic to see him. He waited in the shadows of Skingrad, the scarlet city.

The sun rose in the east, making the city cast shadows in a westerly direction. This would cause a problem for someone hiding by a city's east gate, but this rule didn't apply to the city of Skingrad. This was a moderately mountainous area, and many hills and walkways overlooked the path from the city, blocking the early morning light. Atop the hill to the south of the gate was a cluster of boulders, and amongst those boulders hid Lucien.

The girl eventually emerged. Lucien had overestimated how early she would leave, lest he miss her departure. She mechanically walked towards the lone grey horse under the otherwise deserted shelter; she recognised it but it didn't recognise her. Lucien guessed that she had stolen it earlier, and its owner's plight hadn't been heard as far as Skingrad.

The way she walked struck Lucien as being blank, empty. This puzzled Lucien; he had been expecting her body language to betray her thoughts and emotions more than it was. Lucien was sure that he was missing something, so stared harder. The only thing that struck him as odd was her arms.

The girl's arms did not swing as she walked, like they did for a normal person. Instead her fingers gently pinched the fabric of the clothing she was wearing, as if she were preventing herself from falling apart. This also prevented her arms from moving conventionally, which was the only reason why he had noticed this behaviour in the first place. The behaviour was so subtle that Lucien doubted that she herself noticed that she was doing it.

This girl was a puzzle to him; he couldn't glean much information from her through simple observation. She had been described to him as a merciless killer, but to him she had appeared to be a frightened kitten. The thing that puzzled Lucien most about this young elf maiden was her name. He didn't know it; the Night Mother hadn't told the Listener.

It wasn't unknown for the Night Mother to keep information from this Listener, but it also wasn't usually a problem. It was a problem now because this strange Bosmer hadn't been inclined to speak yet. Lucien would have to go through the embarrassment of asking her what her name is. Usually the traditions of socialising allowed him to glean unknown information from people without asking for it, but he had now found an exception.

* * *

The clumsy rhythm of the greyish horse's hooves hitting the ground managed to distract me. I presumed his previous owner had been a farmer because I had stolen the horse from a small farm between her guardians' house and the Cyrodiil / Valenwood border. The horse also seemed unaccustomed to long-distance travel, which would be indicative of a life lived entirely within a small area. I had also lived within a small area for most of my life.

If my parents had died in Cyrodiil, then I would have spent at least a small amount of time outside Valenwood. Despite that fact, I felt as if this was my first time in this Province. I couldn't remember my parents or the land of Cyrodiil; I assumed that this was because I had been a mere infant when it had occurred. My guardians hadn't recounted to me the circumstances of my parents' demise in sufficient detail for my liking.

I mused over the moment when my uncle's tongue slipped. They had been keeping the manner of my parents' death from me for more than a decade when uncle Enthor had accidentally said 'were killed' instead of 'died' during one of the few times when they actually spoke of my parents. That moment, even though it had merely been a word accidentally voiced at a particular moment in my company, had been a turning point in my life. It was as a result of that moment – directly or indirectly – that the thoughts and images of death and causing death had begun.

I remembered the feeling of satisfaction as my stolen dagger had carved the flesh of a fellow Bosmer. The indescribable darkness inside me had been pleased that I had obeyed its will, or perhaps it had been satisfied that I had set events into motion. It had even allowed me a few hours of almost freedom, an occurrence that I doubted would happen again. The same darkness now filled me with an inexplicable desire for the bloody execution of a man named Lorkmir.

I realised that my thoughts, though they had been safely distracted by the sound of the horse's hooves, had strayed back to the darkness that I intensely feared. The darkness was now dominant; it had taken complete control of my ability to act and to communicate. Because my thoughts were strangely clear, I could locate the darkness within my mind. It was a distinct dark cloud that I could not could penetrate.

I realised that the horse had gone off course again. Before I had been riding the horse towards the left side of the road, but now I was clearly in the centre. I had distracted the darkness with the intent to head to the city of Chorrol instead of the Imperial City, but I now could see that the darkness had been aware of my plan. The darkness seemed to mock me as I momentarily lost my confidence.

The day dragged on and the horse's progress became more and more laboured. I hoped that the horse would be able to get to Chorrol before it would go no further. The sun burned and blistered my skin, unused to being out of the shade of the endless forest. Occasionally I was allowed by my prison to stop at small bodies of water for both me and my unwilling steed to drink.

As the sun began to set, the horse and I began to pass many ruins. Some were elegantly curved from lighter stone in an architecture that seemed familiar; I presumed that they had been built by descendents of the Aldmer, the first elves. Others were more clumsily concocted from crumbling stone, which I presumed had been built by the races of men. I could not tell which ruins were older, but the structural integrity of the crumbling ruins made me doubt they would have lasted as long as the elf-like ruins.

The number of ruins we passed increased as the path began to turn north. When night fell I could see Lake Rumare in the distance, disturbingly close. Forks in the road leading to the east sprung haphazardly as the horse stumbled onwards; I was thankful after each fork that the horse had not suddenly turned east. I hoped that I would be able to continue north towards Chorrol, leaving the Imperial City behind.

The terrain here was unpredictable, and we were soon racing towards a sharp decline. For a moment I was terrified that we were about to fall off a cliff, but then I saw that a bridge built from rope and wooden planks had been built over the valley. I attempted to slow the horse before it reached the bridge, doubting the bridge's stability, but the darkness did not allow it. The horses hooves thudded against the boards of the bridge, making a sequence of sounds similar to those of a Khajiiti musical instrument I had once heard.

I could see a signpost a fair distance in front of me. As I neared it, the words inscribed into the wood became more legible. The sign pointed east and 'Imperial City' was what it said, though it was difficult to read in the darkness. I focused my attention entirely on disregarding the sign's advice. The horse began to turn.

_No. I don't want to..._

The darkness magnified, its willpower dominating mine. I fought back, but it outsmarted my every 'manoeuvre' and doubled every force opposing it. The dark cloud of my prison was both unfeeling and impenetrable. I was at it's mercy, though it had none.

_Killing is wrong. I don't have to commit any more murders. I am in control._

My words had no effect, and were overlooked by the darkness. The horse crossed onto the bridge at an uncomfortable pace; the burning torches whizzing past like fireflies. My logic told me that it was travelling no faster than it had been before but the proximity to my unwanted destiny changed my perception. The terror that filled my heart now was even greater than that which I had felt for Lucien Lachance; I feared myself more. The torch-lit gates of the Imperial City loomed over me at a breakneck speed.

* * *

The guards didn't seem alarmed at all at my presence. I had hoped that my appearance would draw the attention of the guards. I was wearing simple tan-coloured clothing with two daggers at my hip and a bow slung across my back. I could only watch as I inevitably entered the Elven Gardens District from the adjacent Talos Plaza District.

From what I knew of Nords, I guessed that Lorkmir was a Nord name. It is a stereotype for nords to spend a lot of late hours being drunk in bars. There were two inns that I could see in the district, the King and Queen Tavern and Luther Broad's Boarding House. After a moment of thought I decided that Luther Broad's would be the inn that a Nord would most likely prefer, just judging by the name, so I checked there first.

Inside there was a man behind the bar, and a few unconscious men. There was one Dunmer, two Redguards, an Imperial and a Nord. Though I hadn't met enough Nords, Imperials and Bretons to distinguish them effectively, I identified the Nord by his characteristic beard. The man behind the bar looked up as I stepped forward and the door closed behind me.

"Greetings stranger, are you new in town?" he asked.

Instead of verbalising my response, I nodded.

"You're in Luther Broad's Boarding House. I'm Luther Broad. Allow me to introduce you to my customers," Luther said jokingly, gesturing towards the unconscious men.

I walked up to one of them, the one I thought was a Nord, and pointed to him so that the barman could see.

"Oh yes, that's Lorkmir," he said indifferently. "He's a regular." Luther walked around the bar and prodded the unconscious Nord, but to no avail. He shrugged, "Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. It's about time they went home, anyway."

I prodded him too, signalling to the barman that I wanted him to be awake.

"Hey Lorkmir, there's someone here to see you!" Luther Broad bellowed. The darkness fought my impulse to cover my ears.

The Nord stirred and grumbled incomprehensible words. One of his bleary eyes opened slightly and his pupil contracted when it encountered the bright lights. Lorkmir ignored the barman completely and stumbled towards the door, which he managed to open and stumble through. I left not long after he did, ignoring the barman's attempts to keep me in there as a customer.

The drunken Nord slowly made progress down the curving road, swaying uncontrollable as he walked. He continued on past the King and Queen Tavern and another door before stopping at the next door. He clumsily pulled a key out of his pocket, unlocked the door, stepped inside and locked the door behind him. I didn't get to the door before it closed behind him, so I stared blankly at it.

I had never been good with a lockpick, but I had managed to collect them over the years of my childhood. I never intended to actually use them, but all children have an affiliation with items and behaviours that are forbidden. After checking for any approaching guards, I inserted the end of the lockpick into the lock and fiddled with it, inevitably breaking the fragile implement.

The darkness drove me to focus more as I inserted the second lockpick into the lock. I carefully probed the lock with the lockpick, paying careful attention to every insignificant bump that I detected. I had never asked or learned about the inner workings of locks, but I was a logical person and would likely learn through practise. One corner of the lock remained beyond my probing, so I forced the lockpick in further. The lockpick hit an unexpected bump at high speed, and shattered.

I eventually cracked the lock, opened the door and slipped inside. The door closed behind me with a click. I listened for sounds of movement, but they didn't come from the direction I was expecting. Someone was moving around in the basement rather than the upstairs bedroom.

I crept forward, cringing at every sound my feet made against the floor. I was a clumsy sneaker at best when not in the shelter of the forest. The door to the basement was ajar, so I entered it without pause. I winced at the sound of two blades being drawn by me.

_No. He doesn't deserve to die…_

I held one blade in each hand, and continued down the stairs. One dagger glinted like sunlight, and the other was as black as midnight. I fought back, but so did the darkness. My prison did not listen; it urged me on.

_Please, no! I don't want to do this for the rest of my life. That man named Lucien Lachance gave me a choice, and you took it away from me…_

The darkness didn't listen. The Nord's back was towards me and he swayed where he stood. There must be something particularly important in the basement for him to go here first before going upstairs. As I neared, the sound of him clumsily rummaging through crates and barrels was surprisingly loud.

_Please, let me be free... I beg of you… Have mercy…_

The Nord turned around in surprise. I didn't blame him; my sneaking was too subtle to have alerted him sooner, but too inept for him not to notice me at all. I held up the ebony blade that was a gift from the Speaker named Lucien Lachance. Lorkmir stared at me in shock, though his eyes said that he wasn't completely there; he even forgot that he had his own weapon at his belt.

I changed the direction of my efforts against the darkness that was my prison. Instead of trying to stop myself from killing the Nord, I focused my thoughts entirely on stabbing myself. I willed myself to die to save this stranger's life, or at least to not be the one to kill him. The point of the blade angled ever so slightly in my direction.

The Nord froze and stared at me, confused. He must have been wondering why I was not attacking or threatening him yet. He wasn't sober enough to notice the gradually turning of the ebony dagger in my hand. His face did not betray any fear; the alcohol he had ingested during the night must have had a calming and confidence-boosting influence on him.

My efforts to sacrifice my own life made the darkness hesitate for a while, but it could not allow me to prevent it from reaching its goal. The blades moved quickly, faster than my hands could keep up with them. One of them glanced off his shoulder, but the other hit something vital in his chest. The ebony blade had slipped beyond my grasp and embedded itself into the corpse of the Nord named Lorkmir.

I stood over the corpse with the freshly-bloodied elven-forged dagger in my left hand as the darkness receded slightly. I collapsed and knelt beside my victim, guilt flooding through me. Tears filled my eyes as I sobbed silently; my lips were still sealed. I mourned there beside the dead Nord for an eternity; I mourned for my loss.

Lorkmir was lying face-first on the floor, with the ground pushing upwards on the ebony dagger given to me by Lucien Lachance, lodging the blade further into his chest. A pool of blood began to form from beneath him, soaking through the rug and staining the tiles beneath. As I knelt, the pool of blood grew and soaked into the fabric of my skirt. I barely noticed the progress of the dark liquid.

The dewdrops of my sorrow streaked down my face mercilessly. Once they reached my chin, they plummeted through the air and diluted the dark crimson pool below. The viscous pool rippled with every consecutive drop, shying away from the point of impact then flooding back to fill the displaced space. The fragments of my sadness were nothing; they were absorbed by the mass of crimson darkness.

* * *

First Seed 3, 3E433

* * *

The elf still didn't move; she just knelt there. This frustrated Lucien, he had been waiting for her to sleep in a secure location. Despite his expectations, the elf didn't move from her position of silent remorse. He would have to reveal himself here, lest his newest Sister kneel until the end of eternity.

He walked over to the corpse and lifted it slightly so that he could retrieve the bloodstained Blade of Woe. Lucien was impressed by the accuracy of the killing blow. She had killed the Nord warrior with only two hits. The second had landed between the man's ribs, the point of the blade puncturing the man's heart.

He also picked up the elegantly curved elven dagger that lay discarded beside her. He wiped the blood off both blades and offered them to the elf. She did not react, which further puzzled Lucien. More tears poured from her eyes.

He had experienced a large variety reactions to him visiting murderers in their sleep. Of those, some had refused to acknowledge their actions, and some felt real remorse for their actions; those types of reactions had always preceded them not completing the initiation contract. Never before had he initiated someone into the Dark Brotherhood who had felt such profound, sincere, and debilitating remorse for their deathcraft. How could she be in shock over a murder she had willingly committed?

* * *

I was dragged out of my stupor as I felt something touch my forehead; something soft. I blinked my tear-fogged eyes and they cleared, if only marginally. I was surprised to find a shadow crouching next to me. A sudden realisation came to me; Lucien Lachance had kissed me on the forehead.

_Ok, now I'm lost…_

He seemed to notice that I was aware of my surroundings again, and gestured. I looked down at his hands; he was offering me my daggers. I struggled to remember why I did not already have them. I accepted them from him nonetheless and returned them to my belt.

"The deed is done," he whispered darkly, seeming to mock the mournful mood. "You are now part of the family."

I could give no response; I merely stared blankly at him as more tears trickled down my face. I was not crying as heavily as I had been, because my tears were in limited supply. Lucien Lachance didn't threaten me with a blade against my throat like he had done last time I wept in front of him. Despite this, he still projected an intimidating air.

"Now heed these words. The slaying of Lorkmir was the signing of a covenant; the manner of execution, your signature; Lorkmir's Blood, the ink," he articulated in a fierce, dark voice.

For a moment I could somehow tell that his thoughts were distracted by something. It wasn't me who noticed this; it was the darkness inside me. Though his shadowy attire concealed his movements and shrouded his pose, I could tell. It was a strange instinct that went against what I actually could observe.

He seemed to notice that he was momentarily giving away something. His stance straightened and he took care to control his movements. He could see my confusion; I wasn't difficult to read. He lent closer, as good as paralysing me with his gaze.

"I don't know your name, Sister," Lucien Lachance explained. "Can you tell me what it is?" he asked in a soft voice, as if he were talking to a child.

_Neia_, I thought. _My name is Neia!_ I shouted the last few words, but they still remained imprisoned with me. I realised that if I couldn't speak, no-one would be able to know my name. I would remain nameless for the remainder of my life sentence in the prison of my own mind. I felt terror.

Despite the meagre light, I could see Lucien Lachance's curiosity. He leaned closer, and I could see every tiny movement of his sinister brown eyes. I knew that he was looking for clues in my emerald green eyes; they were my facial feature that was most likely to betray my truest thoughts. He might have noticed a change of the intensity of my stare as I thought my words, but I could not tell.

He turned to whisper in my ear. "You really cannot speak, can you?" he asked rhetorically. "Can you write your name?"

He presented me with a piece of parchment and a writing implement that he dipped in Lorkmir's blood. I quickly began to write my name, but I only managed to write the first letter before my entire body froze. The darkness had realised that I was attempting to communicate. It learned quickly.

"Thank you, Sister," he whispered.

He seemed justifiably puzzled by the single letter 'N' that I had written on the parchment. He folded the note and stowed it away in an unknown pocket of his black robes. He looked at my frozen pose with curiosity, and took the writing implement from my hand. The darkness let me relax my posture, now that the threat of the writing implement was out of view.

He returned to his usual deep, authoritative tone. "As a Speaker of the Black Hand, I directly oversee a particular group of family members. You will join that group, and fulfil any contracts given."

I attempted to shudder at his words. My fate was sealed; my freedom was gone; my life was as good as ended; I was a slave. Before now I had been a mere prisoner, and before that I had been but a sheep to my own impulses. I could not see how the Nine Divines would let this happen to me.

"You must now go to the city of Cheydinhal, to the abandoned house near the eastern wall. Enter the basement and attempt to open the black door. You will be asked a question. Answer thusly: 'Sanguine, my Brother.' You will gain entrance to the Santuary. Once inside, speak with Ocheeva."

I was surprised that he had forgotten about my inability to speak. He expected me to be able answer a question. I hoped that circumstances would make me unable to enter the sanctuary of which he spoke. If the darkness became unable to realise its unknown plan, there is a chance that I would be able to escape from its grasp, or alternatively starve to death.

"Oh, but you do not yet know the Tenets of the Dark Brotherhood," he said in an almost mocking voice. "The Five Tenets are as follows:

"Tenet 1: Never dishonour the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.  
Tenet 2: Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.  
Tenet 3: Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.  
Tenet 4: Never steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.  
Tenet 5: Never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis."

Lucien Lachance recited this like a black-hearted poet. After a while, she found herself not listening to the words but merely the sound of the words. He hissed to emphasise every mention of Sithis. This made her wonder what this Sithis was.

"We must take our leave of each other, you and I, for there is much work to be done. I'll be following… your progress,"

I mentally shuddered at the thought of this intimidating man following me, metaphorically or literally. I watched as he removed a steel dagger from a hidden pocket in his midnight robes, dipped it into the pool of crimson blood, and dropped it next to the Nord's corpse as a false murder weapon. He used a chameleon spell, and turned for the door. As he passed me, he whispered in my ear.

"_Welcome to the family._"

* * *

Lucien was careful not to attract the attention of the guards as he left the dead man's house, crossed into the Talos Plaza district, and left the city. He mounted Shadowmere and prepared to ride to Cheydinhal. Shadowmere was of course faster than that grey horse the strange elf maiden had stolen. He rode off into the distance; he needed to get to the Sanctuary first so that he explain to Ocheeva his plan.


	7. Decompose

First Seed 4, 3E433

* * *

I still fought, but it was becoming exhausting. I could sense that if I used mental force against the darkness, it almost had an effect on my behaviour. It at least slowed the ability for the dominant personality within my mind to control my body's actions. It was odd having a mind and body separated, with my body not responding to my instructions at all.

Frankly, I was surprised that I still existed. The darkness had taken over my body, so why hadn't it removed me from the equation? It seemed to have intelligence, but was limited; it did couldn't work out how to communicate with the outside world and seemed to act compulsively without thought. It was driven by instinct alone.

Was the darkness dependent upon me for its own survival? Was it even real? It could be an invention of my imagination or a hallucination; this could be what it is like to be crazy. No-one who is sane has been able to enter the mind of one who is insane.

The darkness seemed to change slightly with every passing moment. When I first felt its presence, I had been able to speak so long as I didn't give any indication that it was there. For a brief time in the aftermath of my first murder, I had been able to speak to the lady at the West Weald Inn. Just before I had become either victim's cause of death, the power of the darkness's control over me had increased exponentially.

I hoped that my prison would eventually weaken and cease to be, so that I could have control over my own actions again. The most effect that I have had in my goal to undermine its authority over my body was when I decided that I would rather die than be a murderer, but that had merely slowed the darkness in its quest to end the Nord man. The man named Lucien Lachance had become my greatest enemy beside the darkness, because of his sacrilegious Dark Brotherhood's promise of feeding the darkness with more innocent lives. At least the darkness couldn't use me to communicate its contradictory values to the outside world.

I was glad to be riding away from the Imperial City. I had been terrified when passing the guards on the way out of the city, but they had let me pass without question. If my terror had physically manifested itself, I might have caught their attention more. I was both thankful and ungrateful for this; a prison cell might have ended my killing spree, but the thought of being in one was disagreeable.

I was fretful to be riding towards Cheydinhal, because reaching there could only cause my killing to continue. I was hopeful that I wouldn't be able to enter the sanctuary on account of my inability to speak, but I was sure that both the Dark Brotherhood and the darkness within me would find a way. I couldn't think of what to expect within the sanctuary; hopefully they would kill me for my incompetence. I had never been good at fighting, stealth or magic. The magic I did know wouldn't be much use without the ability to vocalise the incantations.

I turned off the Red Ring Road onto the Blue Road, heading east towards Cheydinhal. The grey horse hadn't tired yet; I had allowed it to regain its energy overnight. I had spent the night under the stars, unwilling to spend a night at an inn. It had been a very cold, uncomfortable night.

There was a fork in the road opposite a small body of shallow water. I continued past, the hooves of my steed striking the ground with audible exertion. Just beyond the pond was a circle of stones, surrounding a central larger stone. On that stone was inscribed a familiar marking that I recognised as meaning "Steed". I could have laughed at the odd coincidence if I had been able to laugh, and if it wasn't a common occurrence for people to ride horses past this stone.

The darkness kept my eyes fixed on the road in front of me, but in my peripheral vision I continued to view the stone. The markings on the stone glowed with a fiery magical light, glowing orangey-red. The stone was old and covered with the trails of numerous snails. This triggered the reliving of an unknown memory, but the memory slipped away when I tried to make sense of it.

Whilst I was distracted by the stone, the darkness was distracted by something ahead of me. It was but an indistinct shape, but as the horse carried me onwards it began to resemble a person. It was not like any person I had ever seen in my isolated life. Instead of skin, it was covered with scales.

It was an Argonian; I could not tell whether it was male or female. I had heard of the reptilian race of people from the province known as Black Marsh, but I had never seen one before. It wore pathetic leather or fur armour that would be ineffectual in a battle. It looked directly at me, with its hand resting on the hilt of his mace.

I wanted to approach the Argonian more cautiously, but the darkness was in control of me and, through me, the horse. When we were about to pass it, the Argonian stepped directly in the horse's path. The grey horse almost threw me off, but luckily the darkness managed to keep it under control.

"If you surrender all of your gold, I might let you live," the Argonian said threateningly.

It had a lower voice so I presumed that it was male, though I couldn't tell for sure. He was a poor excuse for a bandit. I could sense that he was bluffing; he wouldn't be able to outrun me because I had a horse and he didn't. However, the darkness took him at his word and considered him a real threat.

Though I tried with all of my might to continue on towards Cheydinhal despite what awaited me there, I felt myself removing the elven dagger from its sheath. Without control or hesitation, I aimed the dagger towards his neck. I watched whilst he instinctively jumped out of the way and the blade whistled past, just missing him; every moment was as clear as the last. The dagger instead embedded itself in his shoulder, slipping from my grasp.

The Argonian grimaced with pain, but did not hesitate to arm himself. Despite the hilt of the dagger protruding from his shoulder, he swung the mace in my general direction, and I ducked beneath it. The horse stepped backwards against the darkness's wishes. The Argonian bandit was clumsy, but he was easily the better fighter.

As controlled by the darkness as ever, I drew the ebony dagger. Against my will, my arm sliced the tiny blade through the air. This time the bandit was prepared, and he countered with his own attack. He missed and instead hit my stolen horse's flank, just behind my leg.

The horse was protected somewhat by the saddle, but still vocalised its pain. It immediately began galloping away from the bandit with me still as rider, leaving my elven dagger behind. The darkness, through me, eventually stopped trying to steer the horse back towards the bandit to complete the fight. Instead, the horse was again directed eastward towards Cheydinhal.

* * *

At late afternoon I led the injured horse towards the Black Waterside Stables. I would have to make this quick, so that the darkness would not get impatient. The Dunmer in the paddock looked up when she heard the sound of an approaching horse. Also in the paddock was a pair of black horses.

"That's a fine stallion you have there," she said.

I gave no response.

"A stallion; a male horse that is at least four years old," she said incredulously.

I still gave no response. I led the grey horse over to the Dunmer, showing her the injury. It… no, he was still bleeding slightly where the mace's spikes hadn't been deflected and had instead broken the skin. When she saw, she immediately looked concerned. She reached out with her hand, comforting the horse.

"Were you attacked?" she asked.

I managed to nod.

"Was it bandits?"

I nodded. I tried to talk to her with my pleading eyes.

"Don't you worry, I'll look after him," she said.

I handed her the reins and she led the horse into the paddock. I walked towards the city gates as she began to nurse my stolen grey horse's injuries. She spoke to the horse with a motherly tone, as if it were her child. I opened the gates and stepped into Cheydinhal; it was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Cheydinhal's architecture was unfamiliar, including a lot of dark colours and oddly shaped roofs. I presumed that this city was influenced by traditional Dunmer architecture. From what I knew of Tamrielic geography, I presumed that Cheydinhal was close to the Morrowind - Cyrodiil border. Guided by the darkness, I travelled eastward through the city.

I crossed a bridge over the river that split the city in half from north to south. It was an unusual bridge because it was split into two smaller sections that were joined in the middle by an island in the river. The water of the river was unmoving; it was more like a small lake than a river. As I crossed the second section of the bridge, I passed by a tough-looking Orc warrior who acted as though I was not there.

The abandoned house was not difficult to distinguish from the other houses that lined Cheydinhal's eastern wall. It had several clear symptoms of being abandoned. It was heavily damaged and the surrounding fence was almost non-existant, its door and windows were boarded up, and it was avoided by all passers-by. My eyes centred on the door.

I walked towards the abandoned house, and stopped before the boarded-up door. I noticed that the boards were nailed in such a way that did not interfere with the functions of the door, but gave the appearance of being boarded-up. I hoped that the darkness wouldn't notice this fact, despite sharing eyes with me. My faint hopes were shattered when my hand extended towards the doorknob, and opened the door.

Once inside the abandoned house, I determined which door led to the basement. I descended into the bowels of the Nirn, all the while fighting for control over my own body. The darkness's actions had united the intentions of my two greatest fears together. The Dark Brotherhood was down here.

I ignored the many spider webs that surrounded me as I fought the darkness. The basement of the abandoned house morphed into a roughly carved tunnel. As I descended deeper through the tunnel, darkness surrounded from all sides. When I thought that the late sunset would penetrate no further, and that the darkness would be impenetrable, a faint red light drifted into existence further along the tunnel.

I arrived at my final destination, the black door. It was intricately carved with dark images from what appeared to be the same material as my remaining dagger. I tried the handle of the door, but it did not budge; I instead traced the ebony carvings with my hand. If I listened carefully, I could here a faint noise like the breathing of a daemon. My touch triggered a response that seemed to emanate from the door itself.

_What is the colour of night?_

The door was talking, but I couldn't respond aloud. _Don't think about it. The door might respond to thoughts as well as words. Don't think about it. Whatever you do, don't think about the password. No, almost thought about it but I won't. Don't think about it. Whatever you do, don't think about the password Sanguine, my Brother… Oops, just thought about it._

Nothing happened. _That was almost disappointing. So, the door can only respond to verbal passwords._ I couldn't get through the door. My hopes burned brighter; hopefully the darkness would never find a way through the door.

"So, what Lucien said was true, Sister," said a strange growling voice directly behind me. "You really can't speak."

I would have jumped if I had been allowed, and I quickly turned around to face my stalker. It was another Argonian, this one garbed in deep black armour. I took a step backwards, repulsed because of my last experience with an Argonian. The sound of its voice was different to that of the bandit I had met earlier today; its voice was not as deep, so I presumed that this one was female.

"I am Ocheeva, mistress of this sanctuary. And you are the nameless mute murderer that Lucien mentioned," she said cheerfully. "I know that it is you and not an imposter, because he used a magical marker on you, though you might not have been aware."

The darkness allowed me to raise an eyebrow; how generous of it.

Ocheeva turned towards the door. "Sanguine, my Brother," she said for me, and then the handle became useable and she opened the door. As she walked into the sanctuary and I reluctantly followed, the door spoke again. I did not want to look at the architecture or the contents of the sanctuary; I was far too terrified to use those abilities.

_Welcome home…_

"Let me welcome you to the Dark Brotherhood!" said Ocheeva. "You stand now in our Sanctuary. May it serve as your new home, a place of comfort and security whenever the need arises. I apologise for the ordeal with the black door, but Lucien wanted find out for sure whether you could talk."

Now I had a home; I was yet to decide whether this was a good or bad thing. Ocheeva walked into the sanctuary and stood between a pair of pillars. On each pillar was hung a banner depicting a handprint symbol. I felt slightly dizzy.

"When you have familiarised yourself with the Sanctuary, go and speak with Vicente Valtieri. He trains all new family members in the arts of stealth and assassination," she explained. "But before you go, please accept this gift from your new family. A unique set of armour, lighter than normal leather and black as the Void."

There was a pile of armour next to her. She picked up it up and offered it to me. Her last word rang in my head for a few moments. _Void._ Ocheeva looked at me strangely.

"Are you well, Sister?" she asked, sounding concerned.

I said nothing and took the armour from her. I continued further the sanctuary, not liking the way that the Argonian was looking at me. I tried to dispel my sudden dizziness, not noticing many details of my surroundings at all. I was conscious of the Argonian's eyes drilling into my back.

I almost walked into a skeleton armed with an axe, and I stumbled around to avoid tripping over it. I took more care to watch where I was going, but my vision was fuzzy from dizziness. I looked into the far left corner of the room, where there was a circular chute that merged into the wall; the ladder inside the chute and the light filtering down from above suggested that it was originally a well. In the far right hand corner of the room was a small library consisting of a single bookcase.

Something about that bookcase caught my eye. I walked over to it and…

_A circle surrounded by black-hooded figures…_

_Beyond the snail-trailed rocks, curving around where I was, lived a stream that bubbled like a boiling kettle…_

I began to fall towards the floor…

…_the Void, to the blackest of midnight…_

_Where is mother?_

The set of darkened armour slipped out of my grasp…

_It's very green, why are there no gardeners here?_

_A scarecrow held a knife to my throat…_

"Sister!" exclaimed Ocheeva, and several assassins ran towards me…

_The window had no glass…_

_The hooded stranger carried me towards a statue…_

The torrent of strange memories flashed through my mind faster than I could comprehend them. When I tried to distinguish one from the others, it slipped from my grasp. Each memory was forgotten as soon as it was remembered, with each new memory that took its place at centre stage. Whilst the images flooded, there was something else playing through my mind; the sound of a man's voice… no, a woman singing…

_...Dawn has been silenced_  
_And darkness be foe_  
_Rain weeps to water_  
_And wind does still blow..._

The voice continued, but I was slipping into unconsciousness and could not comprehend any more of the words. The sound interchanged between a familiar man whose identity I could not place, and a woman singing a haunting melody. Either way, the words were the same. I did not notice when I hit the floor.

* * *

It was Sundas evening, so it was time for Telaendril to return to the Santuary. Lucien stayed in the shadows beside the well, waiting for her to return. He had no wish to enter the sanctuary at this time, lest his new Sister think that she is receiving special treatment. Overconfidence can be the ruination of an assassin's abilities.

Telaendril was still wearing civilian clothes when she arrived. She was still yet ignorant of her new Sister's existence or arrival. She walked towards the well which was a secret entrance to the sanctuary. Lucien stepped out of the shadows, and Telaendril stopped in her tracks but did not otherwise react to his sudden presence.

"Lucien," she said. She would have said 'Brother', but this was a public place where there was a risk of being detected. She glanced around for guards or other eavesdroppers, then used a detect life spell to be sure.

"Sister," he began fluently. "Would you be willing to assist me with a small matter?"

"Of course, Brother," she said. She was edgy for speaking to him in such an unsecure location, but Lucien appeared to be untroubled.

"There is a new addition to our family. In fact, she should have arrived in the Sanctuary by now. She is a Bosmer like you but she is a bit… unusual," he said in a deep voice.

"Aren't we all, Brother?" she responded.

"This one is a bit further than that. She doesn't talk," he explained.

"And how will I be able to assist?" she asked.

Lucien was surprised at how differently she spoke to him, compared to last time they'd met. Back then she had just been a Slayer, the lowest ranking member of the family at the time. Since then she had been promoted twice, and now held the rank of Assassin. Being of a higher rank than before had given her an air of authority.

"I do not know our new Sister's name," the Speaker admitted.

"Surely the Night Mother would know?" she said, confused.

"The Night Mother reveals to her children only what she wills them to know," he said in a deep, dark voice. "I asked our Sister whether she could write her name, and she tried. She wrote a single letter, 'N'."

Lucien Lachance offered her a folded piece of parchment. Telaendril accepted the parchment and unfolded it. She was not surprised that the note was written in blood instead of ink. As she read the note, her eyes narrowed.

"This style of the writing is distinct to a particular region of Valenwood," explained Telaendril. "That strange hook at the top corner of the letter is most commonly used in northern Valenwood, in and around the city of Arenthia. It offers no further clues to her name, except for the first letter which is the common to the languages of both mer and men. It also indicates that she is capable of writing, but perhaps this ability is being impaired by something."

"Is that all?" Lucien asked calmly.

"Yes," said Telaendril, hoping that he wasn't too disappointed.

"Inform Antoinetta that the pair of you are responsible for looking after 'N'," instructed the Speaker. "She is young for an assassin, much like Antoinetta was, and I wish for our sister to feel at home. It would also be beneficial if you determine her name."

"I understand, Brother."

Lucien held out his hand, and the archer handed him back the piece of parchment. "Goodbye, Sister," he said.

"Walk in the shadow of Sithis, Brother," Telaendril said as he merged with the shadows and disappeared.

Telaendril descended the ladder and entered the Sanctuary. She was surprised to find that the main area of the sanctuary was deserted except for the ever-present Dark Guardian. She walked past the creaking skeleton and searched for her family members. Eventually she found them all huddled in the living quarters around an unconscious figure.

They were all muttering amongst themselves and only Vicente seemed to notice her presence. She could see that the unconscious figure that had been placed on the bed was a female Bosmer with brown hair. Of course, one could never be sure of colours in the constant semi-darkness of the sanctuary.

The family didn't know what had caused the new Murderer to faint; they all jumped to their own individual conclusions. They might be able to speak to her, but she would be unable to speak to them. Communication could only be one-way, so they would have no idea of the ordeal that she was going through. They didn't even know her name.


	8. Diagnosis

First Seed 5, 3E433

* * *

A red glow awaited my gaze; I did not dare delay the inevitable. I drifted back into consciousness, measuring the current activity of the darkness within my mind. My prison was less potent than it had been before. I felt as if I had forgotten something big and important, so I assessed my situation.

I opened my eyes, and was surprised to find that I had no trouble adjusting to the brightness of the room. I could see a wall that had been built from large grey bricks that reflected the dim reddish light as if the material had no colour at all. I could hear the sound of my own breathing, but not the sound of wind for some unknown reason; this room must have extremely thick walls. I was puzzled at where I was, and struggled to remember any recent events.

"You have awoken," said a friendly-sounding voice from somewhere uncomfortably nearby.

It was a male voice with an accent I could not place. I could tell that he was not a Bosmer, Altmer, Khajiit or Argonian. Those accents I had learnt to identify. What did that leave?

"What happened?" he asked.

I turned my head, looking for him, but he was beyond my head's rotational capacity. I had just been wondering the same question. Looked through my mass of scrambled memories, trying to piece together how I had got here. All I could restore was a strange sense of accomplishing a goal.

"My most sincere apologies, I have forgotten that you cannot respond. Please forgive me, Sister," he said with more formality than was necessary in most conversations.

He had called me Sister. My environment still wasn't triggering any memories. Had the darkness taken over my memories too? I stopped in my attempts to find sense from my memories, and focused the facts I did know; the darkness had taken over something, I was either incapable of speech or not expected to speak, and a stranger was calling me his sister.

In my mind's eye an image began to form. I could see the vague shape of a weapon, though it was dark coloured shrouded in a shadowy background. I looked around for anything in my surroundings that might link to this image that had been conjured by my subconscious. My eyes rested on an object on a small table beside me.

I picked it up and examined it; it was an ebony dagger. I heard the owner of the voice suddenly stiffen, sensing danger. I ignored him, and traced a finger across the carvings on the hilt of the dagger; it seemed familiar. The man seemed to hesitate for a moment.

"You don't recognise it?" he asked me, confused.

I marvelled at his observation skills; not many people could identify subtle cues in people's behaviour. The black-coloured dagger triggered an emotion. I tried to identify the specific emotion, but it did not meet any of my first few criteria. I eventually determined that it was paralysing terror, and I enjoyed my survey of the sensation.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I considered the possibility that my mind had become the possession of Sheogorath. I dismissed that thought as being too simple. It is like saying that all murderers commit murder because Mephala pulled the strings. That would be an extremely rare occurrence; it is much more logical to assume that a series of events triggered a situation such as the one that I was currently in.

I at least succeeded in extracting my name. I am called Neiriel, but for some strange reason that name is too lengthy and is shortened to just Neia. Relative to the length of the name Sheogorath, the name Neiriel is short. I was puzzled by the metaphor I had come up with; why would I think of murderers as a representation of my situation? What did that say about me?

The man walked around me, so that he was in a position that allowed me to see him. His had the basic features of a Breton, but they seemed altered somehow from their natural shape. I could not remember what I was comparing him to, but I had obviously seen a Breton before. His feature that struck me as the most strange was his eyes; they were milky-red coloured.

"Please do not let my appearance… unnerve you," he said. "I am Vicente Valtieri. I am in charge of educating new family members in the skills necessary to succeed in an organisation as demanding as the Dark Brotherhood," he explained.

I noticed that there was something else about his appearance that would cause me to become demoralized as he had suggested. His pointed incisors suggested that he was a vampire. I had never seen a vampire before now, though I didn't know how I could be so sure. There were very few things I was currently sure about; I would have to continue diagnosing my situation.

The darkness seemed to be the prevalent influence on my behaviour, though I had difficulty determining exactly what it was. It seemed to be a set of basic rules and instructions. These rules included me not speaking or communicating in any way that is easy to interpret, obeying the laws of the Dark Brotherhood, being vigilant, and occasionally murdering people. I noticed that I had a faint reaction to the will of this darkness; my instincts told me to rebel against this dominating influence on my behaviour.

There was a sound in the back of my mind which I had ignored out of impulse, but it was brought to the forefront. It was Vicente's words repeating through my mind, echoing, remembered with perfect detail. _The Dark Brotherhood…_ stray thoughts and memories within my mind became joined together like spider webs.

A few memories became reconstructed, and my surroundings seemed to make more sense in the back of my mind. I would explore those memories later, now I focused on the vampire before me. He was wearing dark coloured clothes, and had his long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was armed with many blades of various lengths, each with their own scabbard.

"We will begin your training as soon as possible, but I presume that your family members are organising an event with the intention of getting to know you. Quite what they hope to achieve eludes me, given that you are unspeaking," he mused.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to communicate amusement. Moments later another emotion punctured my mind; it was suspicion. _Their motive must be to determine my weaknesses, so that they can instate their authority over me._ This sudden emotion shattered my calm demeanour and allowed the earlier emotion of terror to actually take hold.

I slipped out of the bed that I had woken up in, and held the ebony dagger out in front of me. Tears began leaking from my eyes and my limbs shook. My vision blurred. The vampire assumed a more cautious stance.

"Put the knife down," he said in a slow, cautious, warning voice.

I blinked to clear my fogged vision. I looked at the dagger in my hand, and something struck me as odd. It was no longer protected by its scabbard, but I could not remember removing it. Vicente had misinterpreted my behaviour as aggressive.

I adjusted my grip on the weapon, and surrendered it to him. I sank to the floor, tears flooding from my eyes. I listened as the vampire collected the scabbard for the ebony dagger from wherever it had ended up, and placed the weapon out of my reach. I hoped that he would realise how much of a weakling I was, and deem me unsuitable for the Dark Brotherhood.

"Restrain yourself, Sister," he said in a firm voice. "You need not feel threatened by me, the needs and Tenets of the Dark Brotherhood come before my own needs as a Vampire. You have nothing to fear from us, we are your family."

I continued to silently sob, my tears falling onto the cold stone floor. The sky rained inside, weeping to water within this enclosed space. I hoped that he would kill me and be done with it; I most certainly wasn't Dark Brotherhood material. I was intrigued at how my last thought directly opposed my instinct for self-preservation; I was getting closer to working out who I was to have gotten into this situation.

"You need to control your impulses and emotions if you are to survive your new life as an assassin. At the moment you are a little more than a murderer, which does not speak well of your abilities. It only speaks of your ability to kill another human being without mercy. Remorse seems to be a separate matter for you.

"I did not hear this directly from Lucien, but he seemed to believe that you felt remorse for both of your murders. This is an unusual occurrence. Usually if a potential recruit regrets the murder that drew the Brotherhood's attention, they will not complete the recruitment ritual. I sense that you will be more difficult to train than most other family members, but I will make an assassin of you yet."

I nodded, unsure of what to think.

"Goodbye, Sister," he said in an overly formal manner. "I will visit you again later today, when we will begin your training." He hesitated for a few seconds, and then continued. "I feel that I must again warn you that your family members are waiting to ambush you."

I listened as Vicente Valtieri left the room. He had to walk a fair distance before reaching the door; how big was this room? I now focused on the memories that I had so far recovered from my jumbled mind. There weren't many memories, and there were large gaps in between.

Of my childhood I could remember nothing with clarity, but I knew the names of my parents. They had been named Galthor and Sylaen. They had been killed, but I did not know when, where, why, how, or who by. Between my early childhood and my next memory was the largest gap yet.

I remembered my first victim; he had been a Bosmer like me. I remembered his screams as my blade sliced through his flesh; his terror that the guards did not respond; his pleading for mercy from me and from the nine divines. I remembered the aftermath of the killing, and my utter revulsion of the act. I had blamed the darkness for lowering me to the level of a petty murderer.

The next time I had slept, a hooded man had visited me. His name was Lucien Lachance, and he was an assassin. The assassin had tried to recruit me into the Dark Brotherhood. Before he left he had presented me with the ebony dagger.

There was another gap, and the next thing I remembered was standing in the basement with the Nord named Lorkmir. I blamed Lucien Lachance for feeding the darkness more victims, and I blamed the darkness for following Lucien's instructions. I remembered how I had tried to resist the darkness, but it had been in vain. I had been so opposed to killing the man that I had been willing to sacrifice myself to save his life; if that hadn't stopped the darkness from completing the execution, and I doubted that anything would.

I remembered kneeling next to his corpse for an unmeasurable length of time. Tears had been pouring from my eyes, just like how they were now falling to the floor of the Sanctuary. Lucien had eventually awoken me from my stupor, and instructed me to go to this Sanctuary. I blamed the Dark Brotherhood for their ability to provide a constant stream of victims.

_Welcome to the family…_

There was another break in my memory, and then I had awoken here. The vampire had been waiting for me to awaken. I wondered how long I had been unconscious, and whether Vicente had been beside me the whole time. I wondered what had caused my unconsciousness.

I could not remember myself entering the Sanctuary. I presumed that it hadn't been a typical entrance, with me unable to speak the password, and resulting in me losing consciousness. The only thought in my jumbled memory that seemed to relate with that time period was a sound. It was a voice, but it had no voice.

_Silence, my child  
__You will make not a sound  
__The moons are above  
__And the shadows abound_

_Dawn has been silenced  
__And darkness be foe  
__Rain weeps to water  
__And wind does still blow…_

It was from a song or a poem, but I could not remember hearing it. I could only remember a small fragment of the verse. It seemed to have a morbid tone to it. I dreaded the possibility of hearing the full version of it; it would most certainly be horrible.

The darkness; what was it? At the moment it seemed to merely be a guideline for my behaviour. My memories of the darkness portrayed it as being a ruthless, dominating influence; sometimes even a separate intelligence. I puzzled over the reasons for its restrictions and its occasional domination.

I determined that it had restricted my ability to speak, so that it could remain undetected by others. Its reason for its domination was obvious; it had been trying to get me here, to the sanctuary. It's more relaxed control over me now was because I had reached my destination; the only reason it would take over again would be if I tried to escape the Sanctuary, which I wouldn't dare attempt. The darkness's obsession with murder and its attachment with the Dark Brotherhood still eluded me.

* * *

After procrastinating for a long time, I eventually gathered the courage to leave the room I was in. This room was the dormitories or the living quarters, because it had all of the facilities of a typical house. Whilst exploring my immediate surroundings, I had fled in terror when I spotted a giant rat. My instinctual reaction was unnecessary, however; the rat did not attack.

I walked up the passage, but then hesitated before the door. I placed my hands on the heavy black doors, and pushed. Even before the doors opened, I could tell that they were waiting for me. A single dewdrop filled my eye as I crossed the threshold.

What looked like the entire family was crowded around the door. I had no time to look at individuals when they embraced me. A chorus of 'Welcome' filled the air, each voice blending into the next. I couldn't distinguish any words afterwards, because they all started talking over each other.

"Let her breathe, Sister," said Vicente Valtieri; his voice cut through the others with distinct authority. The room was instantly silent, and the constricting arms slackened. I looked for him; he was standing in the corner of the room, watching from afar. The family stepped backwards so that I could see them all.

Closest to me, and furthest to the right was a female Breton. She was shorter and younger than the others, and had blue eyes and short blonde hair. She wore tan-coloured civilian clothes like what I was wearing. I presumed that she was the one Vicente had been speaking to; she looked as though she was itching to hug me.

An Orc seemed to be experiencing the same predicament as the Breton girl. He had placed himself further away than most of the others, but without realising he kept shuffling half- and quarter-steps towards me. He was massive and wore a massive set of heavy armour. Slung across his back was a battle-worn battleaxe.

To the left of the Breton was a Bosmer woman. She was the same race as me, but was older and taller. She was garbed black armour as if she was just about to leave for 'Dark Brotherhood business'. Across her back was slung an elegant elven bow and quiver of fine steel arrows. She seemed as though she was ready to restrain the Breton at a moment's notice.

To the left of the women was an Argonian with bright red and green scales. I guessed his gender from the fact that he was wearing light brown pants instead of a skirt. When I looked at him, he took an involuntary step forward and I took an involuntary step backwards. He was wearing middle-class civilian clothes and fur boots, and had a steel shortsword at his hip.

Behind him was another Argonian who was wearing a green-coloured shirt and skirt. She had lighter-coloured green and orange scales, and the spikes on her head were decorated with strips of brightly-coloured cloth. She had an air of authority about her, so I presumed that she was a high-ranking member of the Brotherhood. Like the Breton woman she appeared to be unarmed, though I wouldn't have been surprised if she had a whole set of concealed weapons.

Further away from me than the others lurked a Khajiit wearing the robes of a mage. He looked disinterested, and possibly even bothered by my presence. I presumed that he had been dragged there against his will by the others. He being there verified for me that the entire population of the sanctuary was there, except for their pet rat; the skeleton continued to either patrol or wander aimlessly around the room.

The room was roughly square with a door or passageway in the middle of each side of the room, and four pillars in the middle of the room arranged in a square pattern. Whether those pillars were merely decorative, or were holding up the ceiling, I could not determine. In the wall to my right was a passageway that descended deeper into the depths of what I presumed was an already deep underground sanctuary. The whole sanctuary seemed to be dank, dark and dimly lit, with the only visible sunlight filtering down through what looked like a well that intersected the far right corner of the room.

The Argonian woman was the first to break the ominous silence. "At last, you have finally awoken Sister!"

They all stared at me, more than half of them expecting a response. I nodded slightly. I felt self-conscious and on the verge of tears. The Breton woman stepped forward, and didn't seem to notice the several warning glances that were shot at her.

"You don't… talk?" she asked in a small, high pitched voice.

I nodded again.

"But what's your name?" she said in a sharper voice, as if my name was the most important thing on Nirn.

"No-one knows her name," explained the elf beside her. The Breton looked as though it was a crime against nature for someone not to have a name.

The Argonian woman interrupted, and began introducing the residents of the family to me. "You already know that I am Ocheeva, and you've already met Vicente," she pointed to the vampire. "This is Gogron gro-Bolmog," she pointed to the Orc, "Teinaava," the Argonian man, "M'raaj-Dar," the Khajiit, "Telaendril," the Bosmer, "and Antoinetta Marie," the Breton girl.

"Why does my name matter, she doesn't even have one," cried Antoinetta, as if my namelessness was a denial of justice.

No one bothered to correct her; I had a name, but I just couldn't tell anyone what it was. She was acting younger than was typical for her age, in addition to her being already younger than everyone except for me. I guessed that she was aged between seventeen and twenty-three. A sudden excitement filled her blue eyes.

"We could choose a name for you!" she exclaimed.

"How about a big strong Orc name, like Bogdub or Glasha?" said Gogron. "You're going to need something about you that's tough if you want to survive your first contract." He guffawed loudly at his own joke.

"Be nice, Gogron," said Teinaava in a rough voice.

"How about a Breton name?" suggested Antoinetta. "I used to have cousins called Elyssa and Arielle. They had very nice names."

"Not even she would fall so low," scoffed M'raaj-Dar. "Those faerie names would be a disgrace, even for an ape."

"What's wrong with…" began Antoinetta.

"Seeing as our new sister is a Wood Elf, I think Telaendril should have a say," interrupted Ocheeva.

Everyone waited silently whilst Telaendril thought long and hard. Everyone seemed patient except for Antoinetta Marie, who twitched and fiddled with her sleeve.

"Is it true that your name starts with N?" asked the elf.

My eyes widened, and I nodded. Had that terrible man, Lucien Lachance, told her?

"How do you know?" asked Antoinetta.

"Our speaker," she explained. "What is your name, sister? Navil? Nolien? Nadiel? Nona?"

I shook my head for each name as I heard it.

She looked me in the eye; she had green eyes like me, but hers were a lighter, more yellowy shade. "How about Nagaia?"

I gave no reaction. It wasn't my name, but I liked it.

"It's an Ayleid word meaning _deathly_," she explained.

"That so works!" squealed Antoinetta.

"It isn't your name, is it?" asked Telaendril.

I gave no reaction.

"But you don't mind being called that name?" she asked.

I nodded slowly.

"Look at her! She likes it," said Gogron in his not-so-subtly loud voice.

I nodded. Vicente smiled in the corner of the room, but I doubted it was because he liked the name. It was more likely that he was happy that I was fitting in with the family, despite the fact that they provided the vast majority of interaction. Nagaia would be the name of the murderer they knew, but I would always keep my birth name for myself.

The crowd dissolved into a tour of the sanctuary, first to the training room then to Ocheeva's and Vicente's quarters. We even went to the living quarters, despite the fact that I had already explored that area. Eventually most of the family went back to their duties, leaving only Antoinetta holding onto my arm and Vicente trailing at a distance. I could not determine which one of us he was keeping a careful eye on.

M'raaj-Dar had left straight away after we embarked on our tour, but then we stumbled upon him doing nothing in particular in the corridor between Ocheeva's and Vicente's quarters. Gogron left shortly after, but we later encountered him in the training room. Telaendril was the next to leave; she climbed up the ladder in the well, saying that she had to complete a contract. When we reached Ocheeva's quarters, Ocheeva explained that she needed to speak with Teinaava, so both of the Argonians stayed behind.

The only place in the tour that remained unexplained was the well in the corner of the main hall. I presumed that the well was another exit to the sanctuary.

* * *

I sat curled into a ball on the bed that I had woken up in; my deep emerald eyes were closed and I was concentrating hard on trying to access the jumbled and blocked-off sectors of my mind. Antoinetta chatted away regardless of my apparent inattentiveness, though I was not really inattentive; I could hear every word she said and could remember them with perfect detail. If there was one thing that I excelled at, it was interpreting and remembering sounds. His footsteps were quieter than the rest of the Sanctuary's residents, but I could not help but hear Vicente's arrival over the top of Antoinetta's constant chatter.

"I am afraid that you're going to have to relinquish your sister to me, Antoinetta," the vampire said.

The Breton looked at me with sad eyes. "Goodbye, Nagaia," she said.

I stood up and lifted my hand a tiny fraction, waving to her goodbye. All of the family paid attention to my most subtle movements, but still managed to ignore many important ones. I was slowly learning to control my actions better, so that they cannot be misinterpreted. I followed Vicente out of the living quarters and into the main hall.

"So, I heard that your family members tried to get you to use sign language and written language. Was it successful?" asked Vicente.

If he had heard that, then he had obviously also heard the outcome. I guessed that he was trying to make conversation. I managed to twitch my head slightly from side to side, which could be interpreted as 'no'.

"That is a shame," he said, but his voice sounded intrigued.

He led me to the front of the main hall, but then stood so that his back faced the carved ebony door. On each of the pillars on the side that was facing us, hung a banner. The banners on the two pillars that were directly in front of us depicted the symbol of a handprint.

"Before you begin any form of combat training, you must learn about the organisation of the Dark Brotherhood," he explained. He pointed at one of the banners. "Lucien Lachance once told me his interpretation of the Brotherhood.

"Every Dark Brother and Sister is a child of Sithis. He whom we call Sithis has many other names. Chaos. Doom. Discord. Sithis is the Void…

…_Listen, my child  
__To the sound of the void  
__To the blackest of midnight  
__And of mercy devoid…_

The strange verse sounded through my head, but this time I heard a different fragment of song.

"…We of the Dark Brotherhood serve the Night Mother, who is the bride of Sithis. The Night Mother rules her children with a terrible Black Hand. The Black Hand is the ruling body of the Dark Brotherhood."

Vicente gestured towards the banner again. "It is made up of one Listener and four Speakers; four fingers and a thumb. As a member of the Dark Brotherhood, you must abide by the Five Tenets. They are the laws that guide and protect us."

Vicente seemed to notice when my eyes unfocused, but did not mention it. He presented me with an old, worn book. I opened it to the first page, to see the title; _The Five Tenets_. I already knew them from when Lucien Lachance had told them to me.

* * *

In the adjoining main hall, the dark guardian creaked at it stumbled in an endless patrol. Behind the closed door of Ocheeva's quarters, the two highest ranking members of the Sanctuary conversed. They spoke in hushed tones, lest they be overheard. The Sanctuary was in semi-darkness, eternally separate from the cycle of day and night in the outside world.

"There is nothing physically wrong with her. It is only her mind that is somehow… damaged," explained the vampire. "She can't even use written language or hand signs…"


	9. Guidance

First Seed 6, 3E433

* * *

The unsharpened iron blade thudded awkwardly against the surrogate corpse. I wished these assassins would kill me already. I had already proven my uselessness; I was hopeless at any form of combat. Vicente had long since given up trying to correct my technique _this_ training session, but I knew that he had not yet given up hope.

I was the youngest here by at least five years. It didn't seem to disquiet them how young I was; perhaps all new members are in their teens until they die or survive their first few years; perhaps they thought that my apparent neurosis had also stunted my growth. They still spoke to me whenever they passed me in corridors, as if they were hoping for a reaction. They did indeed get a reaction; I would involuntarily step away from them whenever they spoke to me, despite the fact that I always hear when they approach.

The darkness was regaining its strength, as if it had been affected by the introduction of the Dark Brotherhood into my life. I still could not recall the cause of my unconsciousness when I first entered the sanctuary; my family never discussed it, as if they expected me to know what had happened. I had already read the sanctuary's sparse collection of books, so I instead spent my time studying the darkness. It had the qualities of an intelligence, but it didn't have consciousness. It was as if the darkness wasn't a complete intelligence, just a facet or an area of corruption.

One swing of the blade was particularly out of control, missed the dummy entirely. My hand continued to swing, but my wrist was soon caught by someone else's hand. His hand was cold like a corpse, but was as strong as an Orc's. He removed the weapon from my hand and pulled me around to face him.

"I think that is enough for today, Nagaia," he said at long last.

I both longed for and hated this moment for several reasons. I found the exercise pointless, but it also filled time. I disliked all forms of aggression, but the darkness's requirements were divergent. I had a strange need for killing, but the simulation of the dummy wasn't enough.

I hated the darkness for the effect it had on me. I could sense its corruption had begun to spread to my mind as it had done my control over my own body. I would not allow it to spread beyond what was already lost to me. I feared that what had already been corrupted was beyond repair, even if the darkness was to suddenly leave.

I could see the Gogron gro-Bolmog hiding as Vicente left. I realised that he had been watching me during my entire training session. This was out-of-character for the Orc; he was usually incapable of subtlety. I presumed that he had an important reason for his behaviour.

Gogron did not bother to act as though he hadn't been watching me all of that time. He approached when he saw me looking at him. His armour rattled with every step he took, further proving his inelegance. He stared at me for a long moment before getting straight to the point.

"I am troubled, little sister," he began. "I have seen your type many times before, and never have they survived the first month." He paused as if to allow me time to respond, but I doubted he was actually expecting one.

I stared.

"I have watched each and every one of them train in combat, but none of them could beat your horrendous level of skill," he said.

I was glad that he was an Orc; only an Orsimer would tell me straight when he was about to kill me. I watched as he retrieved his steel battleaxe from its strap across his back. I was surprised when he turned away from me and started striking the dummy with his weapon. The metal striking worn wood had an almost musical ring to it.

"The problem is that you are putting too much power in the side-to-side motion rather than in the actual strength of the blow," he said between swings.

That didn't help me too much. I hadn't known that there was a difference between those two things, and I most certainly didn't know how to fix it. He continued swinging his axe with the technique resultant of years' worth of practise. _I'm concerned where this is going._

"You don't pay enough attention to accuracy, and you don't have enough control over the weapon."

The Orc swung his axe wildly, exaggerating my technical issues. He managed to control the axe at the end of his swing, instead of it flying out of his hand as it had threatened to do. He lowered his axe and turned to face me.

"Perhaps you are unsuited for stabbing, and would instead be suited for slashing or smashing? It is unusual but not unheard of for a little elf to favour a blunt weapon."

I stared, and raised an eyebrow.

"Why not try it out?" he suggested, offering me his axe.

I wanted to humour him on this, but I found myself unable to move. I couldn't sense any change in the darkness; it must have more hold over my mind than I had realised. It had learnt how to paralyse me without me even being aware. I couldn't even move my eyes.

"C'mon, there's no reason not to. Try out my axe," he said.

I was still frozen in place.

"What are you afraid of? Breaking it?" He guffawed loudly, and then took another step towards me.

I suddenly changed into an aggressive stance. I felt as my right hand swiftly reached down to my hip. I drew my ebony dagger from its sheath and pointed it in the general direction of Gogron's neck. All the while, I felt nothing from the darkness apart from its presence.

"Whoa! Easy, little sister, you could hurt someone with that," said a surprised but amused Gogron gro-Bolmog.

The door of the sanctuary opened behind me, and Gogron's expression changed to concern.

"What is this, Gogron, Nagaia?" asked a shocked Ocheeva. "I do hope the family is not fighting amongst itself."

She walked between us, and examined our frozen postures. She was wearing her shrouded armour, with her hood pulled back to reveal her green- and orange-scaled head. My stance was essentially defensive, but could be mistaken for aggression. The Orc was in an unusual pose; he was holding the battleaxe out in front of him, but had also assumed a simple combat stance.

"Sister… I was trying to teach my little sister Nagaia how to fight with an axe, and…"

"Isn't Vicente in charge Nagaia's education?" interrupted Ocheeva.

"Yes, sister," he said nervously. "It's just that…"

"You are protective of your sister, and wished to take her training into your own hands," said Ocheeva, completing his sentence for him. It was remarkable how well she knew the people of the sanctuary that she was mistress of.

"Yes, sister," said Gogron, bowing his head to her authority in the matter.

"Please continue, brother," said Ocheeva, pulling the dagger out of my hand and standing back. I felt a strange unease as her scaly fingers brushed against my hand, but I managed to loosen my grasp on the dagger. Gogron's eyes widened with surprise. He quickly regained his composure however, turned his gaze back towards me.

"C'mon, I'm not going to hurt you," he said as if he were reassuring a kitten. I had overheard a rumour about his childhood pet rabbit… "Come on little elf, I don't bite." Well, he's not the vampire of the family…

The Orc continued his kitten-talk that could have turned M'raaj-Dar into a purring lap-cat, whilst I fought against the darkness's invisible hold over me. I eventually managed to hold my hands out in front of me, palms upwards. He took this as an opportunity to place the handle of the battleaxe into my hands. He started to gradually lower the weapon towards my outstretched palms.

"…c'mon, just take the axe sweetie. I'm not going to hurt you, little sister. Just take the axe and give it a few swings…"

He lowered the axe into my hands. With one hand still firmly gripping the axe, he not-quite-delicately grabbed my fingers and wrapped them around the axe's handle. Gogron grinned in triumph, and looked at me once more with a reassuring smile. He released his grip on the handle, putting its full weight in my hands and stepping backwards.

The battleaxe started its descent towards the floor as I involuntarily let it slip from my grasp. I leapt out of the way just before it hit the floor with a clang. It bounced once, then landed on the edge of one of the blades, then rotated on that vertex, and then skidded across the floor with a metallic rasp. The room was silent for a long moment.

"Perhaps you should try some archery instead, sister," suggested Ocheeva.

"…my axe," said Gogron in a small voice, horrified. He picked up his axe, and protectively surrounded it with his massive, brutish arms.

"At least no-one was injured," said Ocheeva, her face not betraying any emotion.

"But… my axe," grumbled Gogron.

* * *

First Seed 7, 3E433

* * *

"Stay low, and move slowly," said Vicente.

I sank even lower into my uncomfortable crouch, almost falling backwards onto the floor. I took a nervous step forward and wobbled uncontrollably. I stabilised myself by gripping the floor with one of my hands. I waited for his response.

"Lean forward rather than backwards, widen your stance, and don't bend your knees so much."

That was easier said than done. I had never been good at any form of athletics. When in a crouch, I couldn't help but let my knees bend towards the Nirn; my muscles weren't strong enough. However I was able to move my feet wider apart into an uncomfortable position, but was amazed at how much easier it was not to fall over.

"Loosen your muscles, you're too tense."

I hadn't realised that I had been tense; it was difficult to remove tension if I wasn't consciously applying it. When the darkness gave me control over my body, perhaps I controlled my muscles too much so I became tense. I didn't like the idea, but loosening my hold on what I could currently control was a possible solution to this problem. I reluctantly released my rigid hold over my muscles and gave them instructions from afar; I was repulsed when the darkness took over and followed my instructions.

"Good," he said. "You managed to loosen up, but your technique is still lacking. We'll try this from a different approach. Start by crawling on your hands and knees."

I gave the darkness an opportunity to act without instruction from me, but it did not. After a moment I realised what I had done and I was shocked that I had allowed its dominance, even for the smallest moment. I was unfortunately getting used to the darkness's presence, but I still refused to give up resisting its will. I gave my muscles precise orders, rather than the vague instructions that I usually gave.

Usually when I gave precise directions my muscles would be far too rigid to actually move, but with my recent encounters with the darkness I had gained more understanding of the workings of my own mind. The connection between my conscious thoughts and the control over my body had been hidden from me until that section of my mind had been taken from me. Somehow my first meeting with Lucien Lachance, when he had presented me with the ebony dagger, had allowed me to sense the darkness as an entity within my mind rather than just the symptoms that compose a state of mind. Meeting Lucien Lachance had been both a curse and a blessing; it fuelled the darkness's hunger, but allowed me to see the darkness and its corruption.

I easily lowered myself down to a crawling position; my youth made my muscles and joints supple and flexible. My knees were uncomfortable on the cold stone floor, but luckily my simple brown pants provided padding against the rough surface. Vicente walked around me, scrutinising my pose.

"Now pull your knees off the floor and stand on the balls of your feet."

I did as he said, but it was difficult as I momentarily forgot to loosen my muscles. I pushed hard against the ground with my hands to stop my pose from collapsing. I had to right myself before he continued.

"Shift your weight to your feet rather than your hands."

This was more difficult, but I eventually achieved it. I shifted my weight slowly, maintaining my relaxed muscles. My arms were straight, and my hands were just lightly touching the ground.

"Lift your arms."

I lifted them ever so slightly.

"Lift them more. Your feet will keep you stable."

I nervously did as he said, and bent my arms at the elbow. My palms still faced the ground in case I began to fall.

"Now take a step forward."

I shifted my weight to my left foot and then slightly straightened my knees. This allowed for me to lift one foot off the ground, move it forward, and place it back on the ground so that is was slightly in front of the other. This was similar to how I had been sneak-walking before, but it was noticeably easier. After my right foot was firmly placed upon the ground, I shifted my weight to it and bent my knees again so that I was in a lower crouch.

At a nod from him I stepped forward with my left foot, and then my right foot again. For each step I straightened my knees slightly, and then after each step I sank back into the lower crouch. It is easier to maintain a crouch that is lower to the ground, but is difficult to walk with bent knees.

"Remember this stance so that it is easier next time," the vampire said.

* * *

First Seed 8, 3E433

* * *

"Nagaia," said a voice behind me as I stared at the rough stone wall.

After realising that she was referring to me, I turned my head and shifted my gaze towards Telaendril. I was slowly getting used to my new name, and was aided somewhat because this name was similar to my birth name. On some occasions my instinct was to correct the speaker with _Neia_ or _Neiriel_, but on every one of those occasions my words were blocked by the darkness. With every passing hour, my hopes of ever speaking further dimmed; I was destined to be a mute murderer forever.

"Ocheeva asked me to practise archery with you, sister," she said.

She picked up an elven bow from somewhere in the room, and gestured for me to come with her. The Bosmer had a steel bow slung across her back, and I was puzzled why she didn't switch the two bows; the elven bow was a lot higher quality and would be more useful in contracts. I followed her out of the living quarters and through an old door into the main hall. We passed the creaking dark guardian and entered the training room.

"First I must apologise for using your bow without your permission on my last contract," she said. The Bosmer offered the elegant elven bow to me.

_My… bow… I have a bow?_ I was puzzled; I couldn't remember ever owning a bow. I could remember seeing it slung across Telaendril's back when I had first met her, and I had automatically assumed that the bow was hers. How could I have a bow, and yet stab both of my murder victims with bladed weapons?

She looked at my hands as I accepted the bow. "You have such lovely hands, you must be good at archery," she said.

If I had known anything of this, I would have blushed from the flattery. Instead I was further bewildered. _I'm an archer?_ The fellow Bosmer's expression changed, distracting me.

"Sorry, I forgot to give you arrows," she said. She handed me an arrow, and gestured towards the target. "Go ahead and shoot."

I faced the target, and held the bow in my left hand. With practised ease I nocked the arrow and pulled the string to the corner of my mouth with my right hand. I stood there for a long time, not bothering to consciously aim. As I tried release the string, the darkness paralysed me.

It was like what had happened with Gogron yesterday. I was completely frozen with no warning and no change in the darkness's presence. It was like hitting an invisible wall; I must have stepped outside the laws that the darkness had set for me, but even now I couldn't sense the law. As I stared at the target I could see Telaendril's increasingly alarmed face in my peripheral vision.

"Sister, aren't you going to shoot?" she said.

I heard someone else's footsteps approaching, but I hadn't heard the door open. Someone else was in the room as we had walked in, and I hadn't noticed. I cursed my incompetence for letting my guard down. I was only surviving in this den of assassins because I was constantly alert to danger.

"She's frozen, isn't she?" asked Vicente Valtieri rhetorically, as if he had been waiting for this to happen.

"Yes, brother, what is wrong with her?" asked Telaendril.

"I think it's a symptom of her neurosis. Tell me, dear sister, how did she seem when you presented her with the bow?" asked the vampire in a casual tone. The tone of his voice unnerved me, as if I inside this prison was of little consequence.

"She seemed confused. I thought that was because she hadn't realised that I had borrowed her bow. It seems silly now; I could have gotten away with it if I had kept my mouth shut."

"No, it's not that, dear sister. I think she has amnesia," he said.

"What's amnesia?" asked Telaendril, confused.

"It's a form of confusion that involves muddling or loss of memories," explained Vicente. "Don't worry, its not contagious."

"Is that why she's mute?"

"No, I don't think amnesia can cause muteness or paralysis," mused the vampire.

"Then what caused her to be in such a state?"

"I do not know for sure, sister. The important thing right now is to get her out of this state without alarming her."

"She's still conscious?"

"Of course, sister, I'm quite sure that she can hear every single word we're saying," said the vampire.

_What is it with this Breton? How can he guess so precisely? Does he know more than he appears to know? Does he know about the darkness?_

"What do you mean by 'alarming her'?" asked Telaendril.

Vicente didn't answer, and instead removed my ebony dagger from its sheath. The darkness flared slightly, but took no action. I could hear Telaendril stiffen as she realised what 'alarm' meant. Though she would not admit she felt fear, her fear was justified; I feared for her safety too.

"What were you saying about her hands?" asked Vicente.

"What?" she asked, but then she remembered. "Oh, that. She has the hands of an experienced archer, but I haven't seen her use a bow or even look at a bow."

I could imagine Vicente nodding behind my back; I couldn't know for sure because he wasn't in my line of sight. "Nagaia, I'm just going to take this bow from you," he said slowly and calmly. "Relax, and gently loosen the string."

I realised that I had held the bow at full draw during the entire conversation. I hadn't noticed the pain in my arms and back for all of that time. I desperately wanted to escape the pain, but my limbs would not obey my will. It was torture.

Vicente walked around to face me, but did not stand in the way of the bow should it fire by accident. I was grateful; I did not want him to die by my hand, even if he was a killer and a vampire. He grasped each of my wrists with his cold hands and guided them to loosen the bowstring. Telaendril took the bow out of my hands at a nod from Vicente. The moment it left my hands I could move again, and I would have collapsed had the assassins not caught me.

My eyes were filled with tears as I was carried back to the living quarters. I watched the ceiling above me drift past. I was still conscious, but my muscles were so tired and sore from holding that bowstring for so long that I could barely move. I was gently placed on the bed, and continued to stare at the ceiling as I stared at the darkness within my mind.

* * *

First Seed 9, 3E433

* * *

Vicente led me to the training room yet again. It was my fourth day of being within the sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood, and my training sessions were already becoming repetitive. I hadn't made much progress in the combat department, but the vampire unfortunately wasn't capable of giving up hope. I was a hopeless case, and my life was merely a wait for the assassins to realise my uselessness.

As we entered the training room, Vicente stopped me from entering too far. He had a strange glint in his reddish eyes, as if he were hiding something important. I looked at him questioningly, but he did not explain himself immediately. He touched me on the shoulder as his milky-red eyes met my green, and then pointed somewhere behind him.

"Just beyond there is a Redguard prisoner that we captured," he explained. "I want you to kill him."

The darkness immediately took over. I armed myself with my ebony dagger and strode over to where the vampire had pointed. The prisoner was blindfolded with wrists manacled to chains that dangled from the ceiling, forcing him to stand. I thrust the point of my dagger into his chest; my lacking understanding of human anatomy told me that that was where his heart would be.

"Now a female Khajiit is in front of you," he said from somewhere behind me. "She is your next target; I want you to kill her by cutting her throat."

I was confused when the corpse of the Redguard was replaced by a living Khajiit. The darkness didn't seem bothered by this mystery, and immediately stabbed her in the chest. I could see her blood gushing out, smell its rusty aroma, and taste its flavour in the air. I had killed four now; my revulsion overtook my bewilderment at the third disappearing without a trace.

"No," he scolded. "You were supposed to cut her throat. Your next target is a Dunmer named Lloden. Cut his throat."

The Khajiit woman and her spilled blood immediately disappeared and were replaced by a male Dunmer. I tried to stop the darkness from making the same mistake twice, but it ignored me. The blade again slipped between ribs and punctured a heart. I managed to glance down at the blade that I held in a reverse grip (blade pointing away from my thumb), and it was dripping with what looked like real blood.

"Your target is an Argonian thief. Cut his throat."

I watched the blood on the dagger vanish without a trace. I looked up into the fearful eyes of the unfortunate Argonian. This one wasn't blindfolded; he was forced to watch his own demise. I felt my hand guide the dagger to position, reading to stab this reptilian man in the chest.

_You don't want to disappoint your precious vampire_, I snarled at the darkness. _There are more ways of killing than you are capable of on your own. You need me; let me lead._

The darkness seemed capable of listening to me when it wanted to. It froze for a moment before surrendering control over my body. It still kept a close eye on me, in case I abused my power. It didn't seem capable of giving me control of anything necessary for communication.

I stepped forward so that I was closer to the Argonian. My hand shook as clumsily held the blade towards his throat. I shuddered as I drew the blade through, and viscous blood spewed out to colour my hand. I watched his amber eyes as they became unseeing.

"Good, but next time use better technique. Your target is a young Imperial woman."

My hand became clean again as the Argonian disappeared and was replaced by a woman who was not much older than me. Without warning the darkness took over again. It did not attack immediately. I realised that it was waiting for something, possibly my instructions.

_As if I would help you murder someone_, I thought. Even though these weren't real people, the darkness thought they were real. The darkness tried to crush my will, but it stopped. It depended upon me for its own survival.

I was completely still for a long time, but Vicente gave no reaction. The darkness enveloped a few unrelated images from my memories, and it did so with great difficulty. I glanced at them and then realised that the darkness was trying to communicate with me. I scrutinised the images, trying to make sense of them.

There were three images in total; a wall, a river, and a grey horse. The wall was unbreakable, and the river was fast flowing. The grey horse was unstoppable as it rode across the bridge to the imperial city. I translated the images as 'You cannot break free; the only thing you can do is ride the current of the river.'

It was an imprecise, primitive form of communication, but the darkness spoke the truth. If I didn't help it, it would continue on without my help despite its limited imagination of methods of killing. If I helped it, it would be more likely to give me occasional freedom. I had no choice.

If I 'stepped back' and became an observer rather than being directly in control, I could observe my surroundings with greater detail. I gave the darkness simple instructions which it translated into actions. It followed my instructions with grace, strength and speed, slicing through the throat of the young woman with great precision. Without the bother of having to undertake my own instructions, I could process what I observed with almost all of my concentration; time seemed to pass slower because my mind was working faster.

"That definitely could be seen as improvement, sister, but how would you fare against a moving opponent. You must kill an escaped Orc. He is unarmed, but needs to be disabled before you kill him."

A male Orc replaced the corpse of the Imperial woman. He was unbound, and immediately tried to escape. I intercepted him, pointing the dagger in his direction. He curled his fingers in fists as if preparing to fight me.

Under my instructions and the darkness's direction, I struck the Orc in each knee with the hilt of the dagger. This was only possible because the Orc wasn't wearing any armour. He collapsed to the floor and held his arms out in front of himself, trying to block my attacks. I kicked him, forcing his arms out of the way and then landed the killing blow.

"Your next target is a high elf. She is heavily armoured, so you must find a way of bypassing her defence."

I used my agility to run behind her, searching for a weak point. I found none around her back, chest, or neck. Instead I stabbed her in the eye socket through the gaps in her helmet that allowed her to see. I extracted my dagger from her face and helmet with moderate difficulty.

"Now you must kill a Bosmer warrior. He is skilled with a longsword."

The training session continued for a while longer, but then it was over. Vicente approached me and cast dispel. The last corpse vanished, along with his pooling blood and the weapon I had used to kill him. I glanced at the vampire and spotted my ebony dagger in his hand; he must have taken it from its sheath when we entered the room.

"I cast an illusion spell on you," he explained. "Only you could see the people you that you thought you had killed."

He handed me the dagger, and I placed it back in its sheath. If he wasn't affected by the illusion spell, the only way he could have known what I was doing would be by observing the actions I took and guessing the context of those actions. I had known that the people had been an illusion, but I hadn't noticed that the dagger hadn't been real. The darkness had not been able to see through either illusion.

"You have definitely improved your technique during today's training session, but you still haven't reached perfection. I think that you are ready for your first contract. Come to my quarters tomorrow morning, and I will give it to you."

* * *

First Seed 10, 3E433

* * *

I awoke from a dream that was not pleasant; I was grateful for having awoken. The realistic nature of the training session the day before had had a damaging effect on my conscience, unconscious thoughts and self esteem. I had lost count of people that I had killed, even though all but two of them hadn't been alive. My dreams had been filled with blood, death, and that dreaded moment when they breathing ceased and their eyes glazed over.

I jumped to my feet quickly because of a delusion that if I did not act immediately, the darkness would take over control of my muscles. I changed my clothes to ones more suited to day activities and exited the living quarters. Most of the residents of the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary were asleep between dawn and late morning, so I only crossed paths with the dark guardian and the Khajiit mage M'raaj-Dar on my way to Vicente's quarters. I paused outside the door to the Executioner's private residence before I could procrastinate no longer, and entered.

I had gathered information from one-sided conversations with the others concerning the ranks of each of the residents of the sanctuary. I was a Murderer, Antoinetta Marie was a Slayer, and Gogron gro-Bolmog was an Eliminator. M'raaj-Dar, Teinaava and Telaendril were all Assassins. Ocheeva and Vicente Valtieri were the highest ranking residents of the sanctuary, both being Executioners.

"Ah, you have arrived," said the vampire, despite it being an unnecessary statement. "Please be seated, sister."

I sat at the small, circular table across from him. On the table was a folded piece of parchment. The vampire pushed the note across the table so that it was directly in front of me. He looked at me with his milky red eyes as if preparing to begin a conversation.

"Written on that piece of parchment are the details of your contract. It is recommended that you memorise what is written, and leave the note behind. It would be unfortunate for the Brotherhood if you were killed during the process of completing the contract, and this information fell into the wrong hands.

"You will not need to leave the city to complete this contract; your mark currently resides within Cheydinhal. I have written further details on the note in front of you. You must complete this contract either today or tomorrow; any delay would make us appear… unprofessional."

I unfolded the note and hastily read through its message. The elegant script reminded me of… someone I couldn't quite remember.

_Within these city walls lives an Orc woman who must die by your hand. Her name is Rogmesh gra-Coblug and her charge is the kitchens of the house named Riverview. You may complete this contract in any manner, so long as she is dead before the end of the eleventh day of First Seed._

* * *

**A question to all readers: Do you think this should eventually turn into a romance of some kind? (My favoured pairing would obviously be Neia & Lucien, even though he's more than a decade older than her…)**


	10. Experiment

First Seed 10, 3E433

* * *

Lucien's eyes did not narrow as he waited in the basement of Riverview; when he had been younger, he would have hated the prospect of waiting days for a lowly Murderer to arrive. Hardened by the years, he was now one of the most experienced and deadly of the Dark Brotherhood. Lucien would have limited the time for completion to just one day, but the vampire was being soft on the girl. However, Vicente had offered to take his place as her stalker if the girl waited until tomorrow to carry out the contract.

The mark was in place. She was enjoying a quiet snack before the day began for the house's late-rising residents. She was an Orc, and Lucien was not surprised that someone would take issue with her being the cook of the house; prejudice against Orcish cooking was a common occurrence. Her name was Rogmesh gra-Coblug and she was going to die one way or another.

Lucien did not move at all when he heard the Murderer's poorly concealed footsteps. He was in a secure hiding spot and magically cloaked, but he made sure that she wouldn't suspect his presence. This was his experiment, and Lucien did not want his own presence to affect the results. He merely watched and waited.

He waited to see how she would carry out the assassination; he hadn't had an opportunity to oversee her previous two killings. Would she stay in the shadows, or would she kill out in the open? Would she use a dagger or an axe? Whenever there was a new recruit, he enjoyed sorting them into one of three categories.

Manipulators work as efficiently as possible and usually use a combination of weapons including a bow, a short blade, or magic. They tend to be more professional than the other categories. They also tend to use poison to improve the effectiveness of their weapons or as a weapon in itself, secreted into food or beverage. They think not of the victim; to them killing is merely a means to an end. They are more suited to infiltration and stealth, and are likely to survive longer because they take more care.

Hunters enjoy the act of killing above all else and can usually favour one weapon over all others. They are impulsive or addict killers who will find their own victims out of boredom if there are no current contracts. They enjoy seeing their victims terrified and in pain, and they prefer to stalk and torture their prey before killing them. They are more suited to public executions, and their life spans are usually shorter.

Zealots focus on the symbolic nature of killing in a religious sense and usually prefer lighter weapons and magic. They value the love of their family and the favour of their deities above all else. They are known to be the most loyal, but also the most easily deceived; they do not question orders and carry them out without hesitation. They carry out their contracts in a ritualistic manner.

Lucien sorted himself into the category of a 'manipulator', but he also possessed qualities from each of the other categories. He enjoyed the act of killing; the blood spray; the sensation of his dagger carving living flesh; the eyes of his victims changing from fear to emptiness. He justified his killings through the bonds of family that are forged. Despite his other qualities, Lucien's swift ascension through the ranks of the Brotherhood was as a result of his skill and professionalism alone.

The Bosmer hid in the shadows. She seemed to conceal her presence more effectively when stationary than when moving. The moment's hesitation when an assassin would remain in the shadows whilst deciding when to strike seemed to stretch longer and longer. Lucien stared at her; he was waiting for the suspense to be resolved, but it endured.

The girl lost concentration for the tiniest moment, but it was enough for her to give her position away. During that moment her weight shifted slightly, resulting in one of her feet audibly shifting across the ground. The mark heard the noise, and then turned her head to investigate. Not being able to see through the gloom, the mark took a candle from the table she was sitting at and illuminated the shadowy corner.

Upon seeing the elf, the Orc armed herself with a fork from the table. The elf did not react; she merely stood there in the shadows with a blank expression. The Orc stood and held the fork before her, pointing in the direction of the elf. Lucien watched a blood vessel on the Orc's neck pulse more powerfully and frequently, accelerating as adrenaline was pumped through her veins.

Obeying her instinctual response to danger, the Orc assumed a defensive stance. She froze, and meanwhile was weighing her odds at survival. An individual freezing in response to danger came from an obsolete primitive instinct to blend into the background and avoid detection. The decision for her next action was between fighting and fleeing; she decided to fight.

With unpractised clumsiness, the Orc approached the motionless elf. She thrust the fork in the Murderer's direction, but her attack only skimmed the black armour. The Orc stepped closer to the elf to a position that gave her more of a chance of hitting her target, but it also put her in more danger. She thrust the flimsy piece of pewter cutlery again.

The girl remained motionless, and didn't react as the pewter fork approached. She didn't even blink as it approached her face. It didn't hit her square on; it embedded itself in the loose flesh of one of the girl's cheeks. The Orc's hand continued, leaving the fork behind, and caught the Bosmer's hood by accident.

Lucien merely watched as the hood was drawn back, exposing the Bosmer's face. Her hair was almost black in the dim light, and her blank emerald eyes could have been dead. The Speaker was sure that she soon would be. The wound was not deep enough to damage anything important, but because it was near her heart a moderate amount of blood flowed out.

* * *

_Let me die… just let me die_, I thought.

The darkness flared furiously in response. As always, it thwarted my attempt of self-sacrifice. I was more than willing to give my life to save the people I would otherwise murder. I dearly hoped that there was a way of escaping the darkness whilst keeping my life.

Over the days since I first opened my eyes in the living quarters of the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, my resistance to the darkness had weakened. I had done it without conscious planning, so the darkness hadn't been aware; it had thought that my will to resist was failing, and that I was giving in. I had only been aware of this when I had attempted to thwart the darkness, and had succeeded. As I had weakened my resistance to the darkness, the darkness had lowered its defences; it had not suspected that I was still capable of resisting.

When I moved into position to attack, I had put up blunt resistance against the darkness. There had been a battle of wills, rendering me motionless. During this time I had sent a sharp force of will against the part of my mind responsible for my left leg, which had been carelessly guarded by the darkness. The attack hadn't achieved much, but it had been enough to alert the Orc of my presence.

I knew that I was bleeding, but I was somehow unable to feel pain. I felt the blood seeping out through the hole in my face. The piece of pewter cutlery was still lodged in the wound. The battle of wills still raged, and I was winning by the mere fact that we were in stalemate The darkness was furious that I had tricked it; I had slipped past its defences.

The darkness still wouldn't admit defeat. It fought with a blanketing force, not leaving a single fragment of its territory undefended. It couldn't be overpowered, but neither could it gain ground. It then attempted a different method of fighting.

A few images flashed into the forefront of my mind. I saw Enthor, Hilwen, and Theredhel, my family. The darkness played the card that I had hoped it would never think of; it showed me a reason to live, and my will broke. How could I be beaten with something so simple?

The darkness stopped its assault after I stopped mine. The image of my family from Valenwood was still in centre stage. I would not be able to fight until I developed a resistance. The darkness readied itself for the assassination of the Orc woman named Rogmesh gra-Coblug.

Under control from the darkness, I stood up and faced the surprised Orc. I removed my ebony dagger from its sheath, and assumed an aggressive stance. I lunged, but Rogmesh managed to jump out of the way. She ran back to the table.

The darkness impulsively threw my dagger at Rogmesh, but missed. I heard a thud as the blade became embedded in a wooden crate. Rogmesh snarled and brandished another pewter fork. I lacked my only dagger, but I then remembered the makeshift weapon still implanted in my face.

Under my guidance, the darkness grasped the handle of the fork embedded in my cheek, and carefully pulled it out. So that the fork would not do me further damage, the fork was pulled out at the same angle it had been thrust in. I should have felt pain, but I did not. Grotesque-faced, I fought the Orc with the very weapon that had wounded me.

With my mind I located a target, and then the darkness struck it with blinding speed and remarkable accuracy. It was the wrist of her right hand, with which she held the fork before it slipped from her grip. Whilst she was momentarily incapacitated by the pain of her injured wrist, my grip on the fork changed to reverse. Next I directed the darkness towards Rogmesh's neck, and it stabbed.

The corpse gracefully slid to the floor as I released my grip on the fork. Blood flooded, quickly pooling over the stone floor of the basement. I stepped out of the way to prevent my feet from getting wet. I left the fork in the wound, adjusted my hood, and then retrieved my ebony dagger before disappearing into the shadows once more.

* * *

Lucien was surprised when the Bosmer girl managed to break out of her stupor. It was a sudden change, with no trigger that he could identify. She stood and faced her mark, with no symptoms of pain or light-headedness. She stood without effort, her balance no different to before she had been injured.

He watched as the Orc hesitated, and then evaded the Murderer's blade by the tiniest margin. Lucien was even more surprised when the girl threw her weapon at her opponent. It embedded itself in a crate not far from where he was hiding. The sound of the blade puncturing the wood was quite loud, indicating that it had been thrown with an impressive amount of force.

Lucien was impressed by the Murderer's uncharacteristic grace, speed and accuracy whilst she fought. He knew this was the same girl who he had found sobbing over the Nord's corpse, but she behaved like a completely different person. When she lost her weapon, the elf didn't hesitate to pull a metal implement out of her own face. She didn't even show any discomfort for her wound, even when she removed the fork herself; everything about the way she fought was unnatural.

The elf ended the life of her mark with a simple stab to the throat, but the weapon she used made it more significant. A fork is a clumsy weapon, and is difficult to aim. To kill by stabbing to the throat, one needs to sever several important connections between the head and the body, which requires either thoroughness or precision. The broader the weapon, the less precision that is needed; therefore a fork would require pinpoint accuracy in this method of killing.

After her mark was dead, she did not hesitate to leave. The Murderer did not glance back at the corpse after it fell to the floor; the Orc's death seemed to be of no significance to her. She did not seem in any way relieved, pleased or euphoric as a result of the killing. Lucien's assessment of her was inconclusive, but she didn't seem to fit into the category of a zealot or a hunter.

She purposefully strode towards him. It was not unexpected - she needed to retrieve the ebony blade Lucien had given her - but it still made him edgy. He heard a rasping noise as she removed the Blade of Woe from the crate. Just before she turned to leave, he glimpsed those strange emerald eyes of hers; there was something familiar about them.

* * *

After descending beneath the basement of the abandoned house, I entered the sanctuary through the black door. I met no-one as I passed through the main hall and the corridor that led deeper into the depths of the Nirn. I stopped before the door to Vicente's quarters. I knocked three times before entering.

The vampire looked up from the book he was reading. His features morphed into concern.

"Nagaia," he gasped.

He elegantly stood. He then approached and pulled back my hood. He touched the bloody skin below my wound. He subconsciously brought one of his bloodstained fingertips to his lips.

"You have been badly wounded, sister, and require the attention of a healer," the vampire diagnosed. He carefully guided me to a chair so that I could sit down.

Vicente swiftly left the room, the door powerfully swinging shut behind him. Moments later the vampire returned with the M'raaj-Dar. The Khajiit sniffed the air with distaste, and surveyed the room with his yellow eyes. He strolled over to my and examined the wound.

"Restoration isn't one of my strongest branches of magic, but healing this should be simple enough," he said in a rough, purring voice, then smirked. "First contract?"

My eyes narrowed.

"I can't imagine how you managed to return to the sanctuary without fainting from loss of blood," he grumbled.

I couldn't feel pain from the wound, so I was surprised it was as bad he described. With a strange blue light he first healed the skin at the surface of the wound. He then got me to drink a potion which he said would heal the damage beneath the skin. I returned to the living quarters and then changed out of my armour so that I could cleanse myself of bloodstains.


	11. Commune

**As of 28 / 5 / 2012, chapter 11 "Fire" has been renamed to "Experiment", chapter 6 "Orphan" has been renamed to "Artistry", and chapter 3 "Deathlust" has been renamed to "Neurosis".**

**I also edited chapter 11 quite a lot since it was published, moving the section involving M'raaj-Dar to this chapter. There is also a new section in that chapter.**

**I decided that the section involving M'raaj-Dar was poorly done, and didn't involve the darkness enough, so I changed it quite a lot. I hope you like my interpretation of magic in this story...**

* * *

First Seed 10, 3E433

* * *

_Child of deathly belove._ Lucien read the words once again. He had consulted the archives of a noteworthy historian, but he couldn't find any meaning beyond those infuriating words. He had almost reached a conclusion that the girl had lost her mind.

The closest language that he could find to the one that she had used was Ayleid. He first had had to learn what the symbols meant. From the research journals that he had consulted, the symbols on the page were pronounced _wel malae nagaia_. Lucien's translation was slightly different to Telaendril's, but the meaning was similar.

In his literal translation, the meaning was more complex. The simplest of the three words was _wel_, meaning _child_. The second and third words were more complicated, and swapped places in the translation. _Malae_ seemed to relate to worship, but in the context of _wel_, could only mean love. The strange relationship between family love and worship seemed remarkably similar to the beliefs of the Dark Brotherhood.

Something about the structure of _malae_ implies that it has ownership over something. Initially, Lucien thought that the _love_ had ownership over the _child_, but the scholar's notes spoke otherwise. The word _nagaia_ was owned by _malae_, as if it was a description of the _love_. Though the words _malae_ and _nagaia_ were linked together, the word _wel_ had no such logical connection; it was as if they were separate phrases.

The message didn't make sense to him, but there was some familiarity about it. There was but a whisper of a long-forgotten past event, but the familiarity was undeniable. When Lucien thought about all that he knew about this underling, he remembered a few details about her that seemed familiar. The most familiar of all were those deep emerald-green eyes.

* * *

First Seed 11, 3E433

* * *

Vicente had ordered me to rest, so I sat on the floor of the training room and watched my 'family members'. Gogron was swinging his axe, Antoinetta her dagger, and after a while M'raaj-Dar joined them and began casting fire at a target. The target did not receive damage from the magical attacks, which puzzled me; it must be magically shielded. After a while the Orc and Breton finished and left, leaving only M'raaj-Dar.

I watched jealously as he effortlessly spoke the incantation, converting his magicka into fire. I knew a basic fire spell, but wasn't able to voice the incantation to cast the spell. He quickly condensed the fire into a sphere, and willed it to fly towards the target. There was a hiss as the fire was absorbed by the target, but it did not cause the target to catch alight.

Even before the fireball hit the target, he spoke the incantation again. He continued to cast fireballs at the target for many long minutes without rest. When he did rest, he took an impressively short amount of time to replenish his magicka. I lost track of time as I watched him practise.

After a while I noticed that he was no longer speaking the incantation to cast the spell. I could not remember when he had changed from words to silence. I stared at him, dumbstruck. He was using magic without speaking.

I admired him for a while, my hopes increasing with each spell he wordlessly cast. I decided to attempt to replicate what he was doing. I sifted through my memories until I found the correct incantation. During my search, I observed the darkness; it wasn't paying me any attention and it didn't block me from finding my magic.

_Balangua var haelia molag..._ I began to recite within my mind. It was an ancient spell in an ancient Mer tongue, and was different to the one that M'raaj-Dar had used. Whilst my mind shaped the words, I searched for my magicka. I had never been a good spell-caster, and was always unsure where the power for my spells was supposed to come from.

I eventually managed to gather my magical energy, and guided its swirling patterns. With the words of the spell, I bound the magicka to my will. I could feel it as it followed my instructions, tracing patterns as I willed it to. I raised my hands, giving the magicka a pathway through which it could travel.

I was disappointed when nothing happened. _How had he done it?_ I wanted to ask him but I couldn't, and had I been able to I would have feared the consequences of asking. I presumed that he would expect payment, but there wasn't much that I could afford. The few coins that I had earned from completing my last contract brought my total number of coins to six-and-twenty.

The darkness stirred within my mind, and analysed my thoughts for what I was currently doing. It seemed intensely interested in my predicament, and communicated two ideas to me; a corpse and a zombie. The darkness was trying to aid me, but I could not make sense of it; was it suggesting that I study necromancy?

I analysed all of the possible ways that its message could be interpreted. A corpse cannot move, but has the potential for movement if reanimated by a necromancer. A zombie can move and attack, but still have the same basic structure as a corpse. Both can spread disease, and have a most unpleasant aroma.

I presumed that the message wasn't to be taken literally. I was revolted at the darkness's choice of metaphor but I understood that it was a grim and unimaginative being, if it existed at all and was not just a symptom of insanity. I knew that the fact that a zombie can move and a corpse cannot was a key point in the message. _My imprisonment would be similar to existing as a corpse in a world of zombies_, I mused.

I couldn't stop myself from analysing far beyond the message itself. I considered the very nature of my predicament, that I was a prisoner within my own body. Even when I was given control, there were still some lines that I couldn't cross. The ability I most missed was speech, which was the only barrier between me and magic.

But hadn't I found a hole in the darkness's defences? In my last contract I had been able to move one of my feet, if only for a brief moment. Surely, there is a weakness in every prison; a loophole in any law; a way out of every situation. There would have to be another way.

I accepted that I was unable to voice the incantation, but I would not give up hope. I knew that wordless spells were possible, because I could see M'raaj-Dar use them. I analysed the many subtleties of spell-casting, and what the reason for incantation was. I thought back to the basics, the very fundaments of magic.

I remembered when I had first attempted to learn magic and how, even though I had been incapable of casting all but the simplest of spells, I had easily mastered the spells that I had learnt. I remembered how my teacher had explained that the words of incantations resonated with the magic in the air. Without the words, my will could not be communicated to the magic that was in the air.

The only problem was that I did not know any other way to communicate with the magic that surrounded me. I could see the magic that was within me, but not outside of me. _The darkness had communicated two ideas to me; a corpse and a zombie._ My predicament could indeed be likened to that grim metaphor; I couldn't reach anything beyond the range my own self.

I thought again of the darkness's suggestion. The order of the two images seemed important; it was a corpse _then_ a zombie. The order was logical, but a living person _then_ a corpse would also have worked. I believed that the corpse represented me, and the darkness's message implied that the zombie happened _after_ the corpse.

If I added a living person at the beginning of this logical progression, it became a person, then a corpse, then a zombie. I applied this metaphor to the context of my ability to use magic. First I was a living person, and could use magic easily; next I was an inanimate corpse, and was unable to use magic; and then I became animate again. This means that even though a person is dead or is a mute murderer, they can still find a way to reach beyond the barriers of…

An idea occurred; perhaps my ability to sense and control magical energy was not limited to the magicka within myself. I searched myself for my magicka, but when I found it I did not use it. Instead I focused that sense on my environment. I was startled when I could to see magic.

I had never seen anything like this before, and had never read about it in any books. The very air that surrounded me was filled with glittering stars. It was not like the night sky; there were far too many of them for me to see any black background. After a while the energy was no longer a collection of specks, it was a swirling mass of intertwining currents.

I looked at M'raaj-Dar using this energy-sight; he had returned to his spell-casting. I watched with intense interest as he drew glittering energy from his surroundings, and shaped it into an orb. The orb was bright and shining; much brighter than it had appeared before the energy-sight. When the orb hit the sign it was deflected by a field of energy, and then orb lost structure and its energy was dissolved back into the air.

I held my hands out in front of me, palm-upwards. The glittering energy around my hands began to dance around as I focused on it. I willed the energy to move closer to my hands. Using the energy-sight and manipulating energy seemed to consume magicka.

The energy surrounded my hands like a pair of gloves. I tried to manipulate it further, to change its form, but that ability eluded me; the energy remained as energy. It was so infuriating; I could direct the energy, but beyond that I could not communicate with it. It was because of the darkness; it prevented me from using all but the most primitive forms of communication.

I had only one hope left; what if the energy by itself could be somehow useful? I wanted to see what would happen, so I decided I would test it out on something disposable. I didn't want to get M'raaj-Dar's way, so I approached one of the dummies designed for melee training. I placed one of my energy-covered hands on the worn wood.

I heard a strange hissing noise as raw energy reacted with the wood. It was different to the sound of shock damage, and it was different to the sound of fire damage. It was similar to the sound of hot metal being dropped into a tub of water, but it was different even to that. Along with the sound I could smell something smoky, like charcoal.

"What have you done now?" asked an irritable M'raaj-Dar, when he sniffed the air with his sensitive nose.

I felt more tears run down my face, fearing what he would do. I heard him approach me. I still had my hand over the dummy, blocking out whatever damage I had done. He stood beside me, facing the dummy.

"Idiot mer, you could have badly injured yourself," he snarled.

I was frozen, paralysed with fear of his reaction; he wasn't the most understanding of family members. He grew impatient, so reached out and roughly grasped my wrist. He pulled my hand away from the dummy, and analysed the damage I had done. Singed into the worn wood was a black handprint; the symbol of the Dark Brotherhood.

* * *

Lucien Lachance stood by the ladder beneath the trapdoor. Vicente was not surprised to see the hooded form of his Speaker when he looked up from the book he was reading. Whenever Lucien wished to speak with him, he never revealed his presence until a suitably dramatic moment. It was one of the few flaws of his ex-pupil.

"Greetings, Lucien. How went your assessment of Nagaia?" asked the vampire, gesturing for Lucien to sit.

Lucien raised an eyebrow, and didn't speak. He sat at the table opposite Vicente. The vampire then realised his mistake.

"My apologies, Speaker, I was speaking of our newest sister."

"Nagaia?" asked Lucien. It was one of the words in that note he had translated. _Wel malae nagaia…_

"We do not know her real name. That is merely what we have been calling her."

"Who thought of the name?" asked Lucien.

"I believe it was Telaendril. She said that it was Ayleid for…"

"Deathly," finished the Speaker. He said it in a deep, dark voice; it was the same tone he reserved for speaking of the dread father, Sithis.

One of Vicente's eyebrows twitched slightly, but he did not otherwise react.

"Did our sister seem pleased with the name _Nagaia_?" asked Lucien.

"When the family was suggesting names for her, it was the only one that she did not reject," explained Vicente. The vampire seemed surprised with his Speaker's choice of question.

Lucien dropped the subject, and moved onto one that he found less interesting, but necessary. "You were enquiring about the assessment?"

"Ah, yes. How did she fare? Not too well, I presume. She was returned to me damaged."

"The results were… inconclusive."

"How so?" asked Vicente.

"She located her mark quickly and entered the building with ease, and without being detected. Once in position, she hesitated."

"Did she just hesitate, or was she paralysed?"

"Explain," said Lucien. He became intensely interested in the conversation.

"During her first session of combat training, Nagaia demonstrated to me her capabilities at wielding various types of blade. Her ability was… pitiful at best. Afterwards, the Eliminator Gogron gro-Bolmog took her training into his own hands and tried to teach her how to use a battleaxe. I didn't happen to be there at the time, but Ocheeva told me that Nagaia appeared incapable of even holding the axe.

"Later, Ocheeva asked Telaendril to practise marksmanship with Nagaia. I placed myself in the training room beforehand, so that I could observe the entire session. The strange thing is that Nagaia actually owns a bow, and appears to be quite a proficient archer. Despite this, she rarely glances at her bow and doesn't even seem to recognise it."

"Is this relevant?" asked Lucien Lachance.

"This is quite relevant, Lucien. Nagaia got as far as holding the bow and pulling back the bowstring, but then she froze. Her technique was perfect, but she was frozen at a position of full-draw. She was like a statue, not reacting to any stimuli from her surroundings."

"You've been sent after too many scholars," said Lucien, amused.

"Perhaps," said Vicente Valtieri. "Please don't let me keep you from your report."

"Ah, yes. The girl hesitated before making her kill. She didn't even react when her mark discovered her presence, or when her mark stabbed her with a pewter fork."

"Not even then?" asked Vicente, intrigued.

"When _Nagaia_ did finally return from her stupor, she fought… well. She didn't seem to notice that there was a metal implement embedded into her face."

"Did she remove the implement from without aid?" asked Vicente. When Nagaia had returned from the contract, he had seen no fork.

"She used it as a weapon," said Lucien. There was a sense of finality about that sentence. "We must take our leave of each other, brother. This conversation has been… enlightening."

"Goodbye, Lucien."

"Oh, I almost forgot. There is something I believe you should know, Vicente."

"Bad news?" asked Vicente, concerned.

"Elona is dead."

* * *

**No reviews last chapter? Some reviews would really help me with my exams. Don't keep me in the dark here. If the chapter is bad, tell me. (I'm actually panicking... is it terrible?)**

**Hmm… perhaps a question to stimulate conversation…**

**So far I have done small sections involving Vicente, Gogron, Telaendril, and M'raaj-Dar. Ones that I am still to do are Ocheeva, Teinaava, and Antoinetta.**

**Which family member should I do next?**

**If you want, I could do family members that I've already done, but I have planned for those three. (********Lucien comes later :D)**


	12. Snake

**Ebony's Grim – (I sent you a PM, but I am unsure whether you received it)  
****Thank you for reviewing! Vicente is good at diagnosing the symptoms, but he doesn't have any way to find the actual cause of what's wrong with Neia. I'm glad that you liked the analysing stuff; I was worried that I was making it too long-winded and boring. Antoinetta has already tried and failed to get Neia to talk; there's a flashback of that in this chapter. There will probably be more situations involving Antoinetta, but they will have to wait…**

**MadParrot – (I sent you a PM, but I am unsure whether you received it)  
****Thank you for reviewing! I see that I should have made the darkness's habit of paralysing Neia clearer. The darkness prevented Neia from using an axe or a bow as a weapon, and only allows her to use a blade (which is unfortunate, because Neia is much better with a bow than a blade). When Neia is 'paralysed' during her contract for the Orc (Rogmesh), it is in fact Neia preventing the darkness from killing. Vicente and Lucien interpreted these situations as being the same thing, but they are in fact different.**

**Ocheeva may be a bit out-of-character this chapter…**

**No love for Teinaava? He is so often forgotten. I'll do him later then… Chapter 15 (oh yes, I'm actually planning ahead)**

* * *

First Seed 12, 3E433

* * *

They spoke in hushed voices, despite the security of their meeting place. They met often, though there was no pattern to when they met. They were the two highest ranking members of the Brotherhood who resided within the Cheydinhal sanctuary, both being Executioners. They did not want to be disturbed.

"…Lucien didn't specify how she died beyond it being not a natural passing," whispered Vicente Valtieri.

"Could she have been killed on a contract?" asked Ocheeva.

"No, she's too careful for that," replied Vicente.

"Then how do you think she died?"

"I do not know for sure, but…" began Vicente, but then he hesitated.

"You don't think that…" realised Ocheeva.

"She was murdered," finished Vicente.

"By the traitor?" asked Ocheeva.

"Not so loudly," said Vicente. "Lucien doesn't want the others to know. The traitor must remain a secret."

Despite his pursuits to keep it quiet, his secrecy was in vain. For one, the others had already heard rumours; they spoke of the traitor whenever their superiors were not around. For another, I was eavesdropping on their conversation as a test of my stealth abilities.

I was hiding behind a barrel in Ocheeva's quarters. Teinaava had given me the idea; his opinion was that our skills weren't used for leisure enough. He also though that underuse of stealth abilities was the leading cause of death amongst family members. According to him, seven family members had joined the sanctuary in the past year, and only one of them – Antoinetta – had survived to be promoted to Slayer.

"How goes Nagaia's training?" asked Ocheeva, changing the subject.

"She's doing well, considering…"

"Have you found any way to communicate with her?"

"Yes, of course," jested the Vampire. "She understands our language, and she can even read. She doesn't answer back, though. Antoinetta once tried to get her to use sign language."

It would take an assassin to change subjects from the death of a sister to one as light-hearted as this. The desensitisation of these people astounded me. They were killers, but their abnormality exceeded my expectations. It revolted me how little regard they had for people's lives.

"Ah, I remember you telling me about that last time," said Ocheeva.

I remembered every moment of that day quite clearly.

* * *

_Flashback_ – First Seed 5, 3E433

* * *

The library was pitiful; I was already one quarter of the way through the book collection, and it was still my first day in the sanctuary. I was surprised how disinterested the darkness had become since I had awoken. Because I was now within the sanctuary, it probably thought that I wouldn't be able to escape from the path it had decided for me. I didn't even try to escape; I presumed that if I tried, the darkness would immediately take control again.

The book I was currently reading was called _The Wolf Queen, v 6_, but I was distracted by the sound of some familiar footsteps. A few minutes ago, she had passed me. I presumed that she had noticed that I was reading, and had jumped to conclusions about whether I could also write. She had been trying to get me to talk for hours, but however much I wanted to, I could not respond.

"Nagaia!" said an enthusiastic Antoinetta Marie.

I looked up from the book I was reading, not wanting to appear rude.

"How about I ask you a question, and you write down the answer?" she suggested.

The Breton handed me a quill, some parchment and an inkwell.

"So, first an easy question… What is your name?" she asked.

I really did try, but any action that resulted in me communicating in any but the most primitive way was impossible.

"Okay, why don't we try a different question," she said happily. "Were you born in Cyrodiil?"

I tried again, willing myself to unscrew the ink bottle and dip the quill into the ink. I even tried to nod my head, but even that was impossible at the moment. Antoinetta grabbed the bottle of ink from me, placed it on one of the shelves of the bookcase, unscrewed the lid, grabbed the quill from me, dipped the quill in the ink, and handed the quill back to me.

"What is your birthsign?" she asked.

I didn't even know my birthsign; my guardians had never told me what it was. I couldn't work it out from my date of birth, because they hadn't told me the month in which I had been born. I had celebrated my birthday on the same day as my cousin Theredhel's birthday; I doubted that they even knew when I had been born.

"What do you think of Lucien Lachance?"

I managed to raise an eyebrow. I was thankful that the darkness still hadn't noticed the expressive ability of eyebrows. After only a few moments of silence, Antoinetta grabbed my quill-hand and positioned it so that the tip of the quill was touching the piece of paper. The moment that she released my hand, it slipped downwards and drew a wonky like on the paper without me even consciously moving my hand

"Do you find him… attractive?" she continued.

Yes, he was handsome, but I hadn't even considered him being attractive. My terror of him blocked out all else. Did _she_ find him attractive? I hoped that she would spare Lucien her feelings.

"Come on, sister. If you can read, you can write. There's got to be something to write about him. You could write 'I find him attractive', or 'I don't think he's my type'. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't feel that way about him; he is as intimidating as he is handsome. You could just write yes or no. Come on, its just y-e-s or n-o…"

Whilst she spoke, I placed the quill and parchment on the book shelf next to the inkwell.

"What's going on?" asked Telaendril.

"I'm trying to get her to write," explained Antoinetta, then she turned back to me. "You can't not feel something towards him…"

"I don't think its working," interrupted Telaendril.

"Oh! I've got an idea. I could teach you Breton sign language. It's far better than Imperial sign language…"

Telaendril cleared her throat.

"Oh right, getting sidetracked again. This is hello," she said, then did a rapid series of gestures.

"Slower, sister," said Telaendril.

"This is H," she held her palm towards me with her fingers together, but with her thumb sticking out.

"E," she turned her hand sideways, and curled her fingers so that her hand was shaped a bit like an upside-down U.

"L," she kept her hand in the same position, but with her little finger and thumb sticking out.

"L," she closed her hand for a fraction of a second, and then it formed the same shape.

"O," she straightened and turned her hand so that the back of her hand was towards me and her fingers were parallel to the floor.

"Come on, sister, say hello," she said impatiently.

I raised my hand, and Antoinetta looked at me encouragingly. The darkness didn't let me even mimic her hand signs. I did manage to twitch my index finger slightly in a sort-of wave. Antoinetta didn't let her hopes be lost.

"I'll show you the entire alphabet. This is A, B, C…"

She went through the entire alphabet, doing a different hand sign for each letter. I couldn't see how this form of sign language was better than any other. I was sure that there was at least one sign language that used abbreviations.

"So, can you spell your name?" the Breton asked.

I frowned. The darkness permitted me to shake my head.

"You can shake your head?"

I shook my head again.

"Are you being silly, or can you shake your head?"

I paused dramatically, and then shook my head again.

"Antoinetta, I don't think she's going to talk," said Telaendril.

"But… but she must be able to talk somehow…" she stuttered.

* * *

_End Flashback_

* * *

"Have you worked out why she doesn't talk?" asked Ocheeva.

"I have no way of knowing for sure," replied the vampire.

"Can you guess?"

"Well, I have made observations of her behaviour. She doesn't seem to be able to communicate to us on anything but the most primitive level, but she understands spoken language and she is a fast reader. There are some things that she doesn't seem to notice, like her bow; she appears to be a good archer, but she doesn't even look at her bow. She also seems confused at times, which could be a symptom of lunacy, or merely memory loss.

"When she fights in the training room, she has terrible or excellent technique. She's never in between, and is always switching between the two. She'd make a good follower of Sheogorath; he's known to have two conflicting sides."

"You think she's afflicted by madness?" asked Ocheeva.

"She's certainly not completely sane," said Vicente. "Most members of the Dark Brotherhood have some level of insanity."

"Most members aren't mute. Do you think that her… impairment was caused by anything?"

"A few decades ago, I had a contract for a scholar who researched this subject in detail. I found his work most fascinating. His research subjects were his patients in his asylum. He also studied the criminally insane of the imperial prison, when he could get his hands on them. According to his research, less than half of his patients had been born insane.

"A few of them had become worshippers of Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness. A few of them lost their minds after recovering from a grave injury, especially if the injury had been to their head. The remainder had developed insanity after a specific event in their lives. Usually it is due to a traumatic experience, or the loss of a loved one.

"Madness is such a broad topic. It would be impossible for me to find the trigger for hers without knowing more about her. Because of her impediment, I cannot gather any knowledge from her."

"That is unfortunate," said Ocheeva. "Is that all that you wanted to discuss?"

"There is one last thing, sister," remembered Vicente. "Did you have the opportunity to gather any of the ingredients I requested whilst you were in county Skingrad?"

"Ah, yes. Flax and nightshade were in abundant supply," said Ocheeva.

The Argonian Executioner walked over to the barrel I was hiding behind, and then searched for the alchemical ingredients. My heart rate accelerated, and I willed myself not to move a muscle. After a while, she distinguished one sack from the others that she had stashed in there. The contents rattled like sand as she pulled it out of the barrel.

"Here are the flax seeds," she said, handing the sack to Vicente.

_Don't move_, I thought with every shallow breath I took. Ocheeva returned to the barrel and resumed her rummaging. There is something about Argonians that I couldn't quite put my finger on; did I fear them? Was I somehow prejudiced against them?

"So it was flax seeds, peony seeds, grapes, and nightshade, right?" asked Ocheeva.

"Indeed."

"Odd combination," she mused.

_Don't move_, I thought. _Don't move… do not move…_

The only problem with telling yourself not to do something is that you are far more likely to do exactly what you're telling yourself not to do. The inevitable moment came when I lost my balance, and had to shift one of my feet to prevent myself from falling sideways. I hoped that the noise had been unnoticed, but Ocheeva immediately investigated. I could see in her amber eyes the moment that she saw me; it was the moment that they widened.

There was barely a moment of indecision before she jumped backwards. She didn't waste time by unsheathing her dagger. Instead she merely held her hand out in front of her. Her palm glowed with orangey-red magic.

When her spell hit me, I felt a massive drop in my fatigue. The room span, and my vision blurred into blotchy grey. I felt it when my shoulder hit the floor, closely followed by my head. I could hear my heartbeat throbbing in my ears.

"Nagaia?" I heard a male voice ask.

"Eavesdropper," a rough, female voice said.

I felt a sensation similar to the earlier, but this time the spell brought a wave of pain. I was only barely conscious, so the pain was more subdued than it would have been. The throbbing sound grew louder, but then even that began to fade. I was almost sure that I could hear eerie whispering…

"Be gentle, sister. She's young and fragile," cautioned the male voice.

"She eavesdropped on her superiors," snarled the female.

I felt myself sink deeper and deeper…

"That is enough, sister. She did not know the consequences," said the male.

For some reason I hoped for dire consequences… why would that be? The female spoke again, but I couldn't make out her words. The whispering was growing louder, drowning out all else. I realised that even the… darkness wasn't here.

I the whispers morphed into music. I heard the words of the singing…

…_the moons are above  
__And the shadows abound_

_Dawn has been silenced  
__And darkness be foe  
__Rain weeps to water  
__And wind does still blow_

_Listen, my child  
__To the sound of the void  
__To the blackest of midnight  
__And of mercy devoid_

_Child of the Night Mother  
__Born of her love  
__Hiding in darkness  
__Of deathly belove…_

* * *

First Seed 13, 3E433

* * *

I could hear that mysterious singing in my head, but I could only remember it up to a certain point. The last line that I could remember was of particular interest to me. _Of deathly belove…_ I had written those exact words in my note to Lucien Lachance.

I could not remember how I chose those words to write in the note. They just seemed to fit… The darkness had allowed me to write them, which was unusual. Perhaps the words of this song have more significance than I thought…

"Are you awake, sister?" asked Vicente.

I opened my eyes to a red glow. It was familiar, but this time it was somehow different…

"I apologise for Ocheeva's overreaction, but we did not want to be eavesdropped upon. Hopefully you will not repeat the mistake."

I sat up, and faced the vampire. My head still span a little.

"I doubt you have suffered any permanent damage. The spells that she used were Enervation and Wound, which have drain effects rather than damage."

I nodded. It was my proper nod since before the darkness. _The darkness…_ I searched my mind for the darkness, and discovered that it had grown a few dark tendrils. That can't be good.

"I have a new contract for you," said the vampire. He handed me a piece of parchment, and then left.

* * *

**Does anyone have any ideas for contracts, and want to take this fine opportunity to send them to me?**

**Also, what skill should Neia next try to learn? (I doubt she'd do too well at speechcraft)**


	13. Inheritance

**MadParrot –  
****Thanks for the contract idea! I will definitely use it, but later on. Neia is still only a lowly Murderer, so her superiors only give her the simplest of contracts at the moment. I've also thought of a reason why the contract-giver wouldn't want the people guarding the captive to be killed. I'll probably use this contract when she's a Slayer or an Eliminator, and after she (hopefully) overcomes her inability to use ranged weapons. Yes, invisibility and chameleon are both illusion magic. What I don't like about invisibility spells in-game is that they dispel if use any weapons, items, containers or doors, and if they didn't dispel, stealth would be way too easy. A point to be considered is Neia's almost-inability to use magic…**

**Anon –  
****Yes, she does seem mess up at stealth a lot. Other characters can give her a helping hand, but practise and theory can only get you so far. Neia and the darkness need to cooperate more if they are to succeed.**

**JustMe –  
****Thank's for reviewing! It is not a moral obligation for people to review, but reviews are like little gold nuggets. They make my day much happier, and more importantly prevent me from panicking… I love stealth way too much to not use it excessively; I'll find situations / excuses to stick stealth-related stuff in.**

**Sorry if this chapter is a bit late, guys. I had three exams within a short space of time… and then I played Minecraft for a bit… Please don't eat me!**

* * *

First Seed 13, 3E433

* * *

I couldn't bring myself to read the piece of paper; it was as if that action alone would bring about the destruction of another sentient being. I decided that I would procrastinate until evening before unfolding the piece of paper. I had overcome most of my revulsion of practising combat skills; no-one died as a direct result of practise. I tucked the piece of paper into my boot, not wanting anyone to read it before I did.

I walked through the living quarters, then through the main hall, and then arrived at my destination. I entered the training room; M'raaj-Dar was sitting with his back against the wall my left, wearing his usual green robe; Teinaava was practising with a shortsword to my right, wearing his shrouded armour. The dummy that the Argonian was practising on still bore a scorch mark from when I had attempted to use magic. I looked around the room to see where there was space for me to practise.

There was a dummy on either side of the one that the Argonian was using, but I hesitated; I did not want to be near any of my family members. If they had heard about my recent misdemeanour, I both feared and hoped for the consequences of me drawing attention to myself. I especially feared the Argonians in the sanctuary; I was cautious of them because I knew very little about them, and because of my past experiences. The first Argonian I met was a bandit who wanted to kill me, and the second had recently used magic to torture me.

I tried very hard to ignore my prejudice, and approached one of the dummies. Teinaava was frantically slashing at a dummy to my right. I glanced at him for a moment, but no more; it wasn't necessary to refresh my memory of how excellent his technique of destruction was. I brought my right hand to my left hip, and grasped the hilt of my ebony dagger.

The darkness seemed bored that we weren't going to kill for real. I visualised the dummy as a real person, building more and more detail until the darkness reluctantly took control of my muscles. The dagger sliced through the air and struck the dummy where its heart should have been. I mentally shuddered, and changed the image before I could visualise blood pouring from the wound.

After a few 'kills', I didn't need to bother with the images. The darkness had gotten over its earlier sulkiness, and struck wherever I pointed with my mind. Over time, the strikes had gradually become more and more accurate. Together, the darkness and I had achieved accuracy to the point where we never missed our target by more than a finger's width.

After a while I found myself visualising curving lines in the air, and the darkness swiftly tracing them with the tip of my dagger. Without the effort of having to control my own muscles, I could plan each strike far ahead of when they would actually occur. I planned each strike in intense detail, the subtlest changes brought sharper and more powerful collisions with the dummy. The darkness followed my directions, sometimes bending knees and sometimes moving feet so that the dagger would execute my instructions perfectly.

"You're improving, sister," said a hoarse voice behind me.

I spun around, and forced myself and the darkness to lower my dagger. The darkness was still in an aggressive state, and I didn't trust Argonians. I wondered how long Teinaava had been watching me. I could hear magic being dispelled by an enchanted target on the other side of the training room, so M'raaj-Dar must have started practising destruction magic.

"Listen, I heard about the… unfortunate result of your last attempt at sneaking. I could help you with your technique, so that you aren't discovered next time."

I subtly shook my head.

He raised his eye-ridges. "If you can't remain unseen whilst not moving in a room where the occupant doesn't expect you to be there, how are you going to fare against mark who is paranoid?"

I reluctantly let him scrutinise my technique. Unlike combat skills, there was no improvement on my sneaking ability if the darkness is the one in control after I had learned the ability properly. Not needing the darkness, I practised sneaking without it. Teinaava couldn't find too many flaws with my technique, which is to be expected because sneaking is one of the easiest skills that an assassin needs to use (I presumed that I was one of the only members of the Dark Brotherhood who had had any difficulty whilst learning to sneak).

"If you need to stay hidden for any longer than a few minutes, you will need to use a few techniques so that you don't give away your position. This is especially important if you aren't moving for a while. Every so often you need to tense and relax each of your muscles, so that they don't get tired or sore. It's also recommended that you don't think about moving, and don't tell yourself not to move; these thoughts bring the idea of moving into your thoughts, so it is possible to move by accident."

Teinaava glanced over his shoulder, and then he suddenly broke into a malicious grin. I shuddered, expecting a poorly thought-out scheme. The last time he had grinned like that was when he told me to spy on my superiors. I had already decided that I would not go along with his scheme.

"Here's the plan," he whispered. "I'll assess your technique as you sneak up on M'raaj-Dar."

I could already imagine M'raaj-Dar's reaction to discovering someone sneaking up on him. I shook my head, but then considered whether M'raaj-Dar actually deserved it…

"Come on, sister, you need to test your skills in a real situation."

_I don't think that's the best idea_, I thought to myself. My excuses were growing weaker, and I dreaded the moment when Teinaava's argument would overcome my resistance. Luckily, it never got to that point; Teinaava ceased his attempts to persuade me.

"Another time, then," he said. "I'd better get going; I have a contract to complete."

I watched him leave the training hall; his tail swayed excitedly behind him as he walked, echoing its owner's desire to end another life. His words intensely echoed in my head, reminding me of the folded square of parchment concealed within my boot. I had no choice but to read it, because I wouldn't be able to keep my mind off it anymore. I returned to the deserted living quarters, and unfolded the contract.

_To the east of the city of Bruma lives our client, an Imperial named Deltus Carius, who has recently inherited his father's fortune. Deltus has two younger sisters named Roletta and Brina. Our client is sure that one of the two sisters is plotting to steal his inheritance from him, but he does not know which. However, he has devised a method of identifying and eliminating the conspirator._

_Our client has organised for both sisters to be at his home on the evening of the 15th of First Seed. During their visit, Deltus will fake his own death. He expects that after witnessing his "death", the conspirator will attempt to take his fortune contrary to what is written in his "will". Until recently, the vault in the basement of his house contained his fortune._

_Because Deltus will be disabled for several hours after the faking of his death, he will be unable to carry out the actual execution. That is why he has hired the services of the Dark Brotherhood. You must kill whichever sister is identified as being the conspirator. If both sisters are conspirators, you must kill them both._

_This contract will be a test of your professionalism, and your ability to remain undetected. The sisters must not know that anything is amiss. As well as the customary reward for completing a contract, you will receive a bonus if certain parameters are met. If you cannot identify without a doubt which of the two sisters is the conspirator, you must kill both sisters, and the bonus is forfeit._

_Deltus Carius resides to the east of Bruma. His was constructed not far off the Silver road, near a circle of rune stones, and just outside the boundaries of a farm._

As I read the last word, the darkness flared. It reached out with its shadowy tendrils, and overpowered my will as if I were a rat before a mountain lion. My hands moved on their own accord, and hastily garbed me in my shrouded armour. Whenever parts of the leather brushed past each other, an uncomfortably loud sound like an old rag polishing wet glass could be heard. I could almost smell my tears, but I could not cry.

This was the darkness's revenge; my control was taken from me entirely. I feared that I would never be given any control ever again. I shouldn't have resisted on my last contract; I had been stupid and reckless, and had not considered the possibility of my plan failing. _I'm sorry… I should have just done what you wanted. Please don't take my last… remaining… freedom… away…_

Not even my prison could hear my words; they didn't even reach as far as the entity closest to me. Even if the darkness was just a hallucination, it should be able to respond. I began to panic, my pleas growing more and more hysterical. Was the wanting of my own free will so selfish and greedy?

* * *

First Seed 15, 3E433

* * *

I could hear the grey horse's loud panting, even though I had tied it a great distance from Deltus's house. The scentless breeze brought another wave of cold, but hadn't the ability to worsen my uncontrollable shivering. The melt at the aftermath of winter had not yet reached this far, so white snow reflected the afternoon light into my eyes, blinding me. I had never been so far north in my life.

I could see the house, but the cold numbed my nose. I could not smell the house, or its associated woody smell. Growing up in a wooden house, there was a distinct smell I associated with wood. With no sense of smell, I was disoriented.

The door was not locked, so I merely turned the handle. It did not creak; the owner had been kind enough to oil the hinges. Inside, my sense of smell returned somewhat and I marvelled at the details that I had been oblivious to out in the cold. For instance, I could tell that the two sisters hadn't yet arrived because the room smelt like my uncle Enthor's shed, lacking the sweeter smell associated with women.

The darkness's force of will hadn't slackened even slightly. There was a constant pressure on me that prevented me even fighting back. I had no choice but to give in. I couldn't even consider fighting back, though I longed for that ability.

I heard the floorboards creak slightly, and my curiosity peaked. There wasn't anything written in the contract preventing me from revealing myself to the client, so the darkness permitted me to investigate. I knew that the sound had come from the room to my left, but there was no door leading directly from the room I was in to there. Instead I went through the door opposite the entrance, past the stairs that led both upwards and downwards, and then through another two doors; my route curving not unlike a scorpion's tail.

I hadn't put any effort into being undetected, so Deltus turned his head as I entered the room. He couldn't hide his alarm at my presence, even though I had no doubt he had been listening to my footsteps even before I entered the house. He was wearing middle-class clothes which were not characteristic of the wealth that the contract had implied. Around his neck was hung a key on a keychain.

"Oh, you must be the…" He winced, and couldn't bring himself to say the next word. "I'm glad that you have come to meet me beforehand."

I did not respond. After a long moment's silence the Imperial realised that I wasn't going to, and nervously continued.

"There is something I forgot to tell Mister… Lachance; silly of me. You see, if my… they die in my house, I would be suspected for murder. I know that the contract has been made and cannot be changed, but if it's possible… could you make it look like an accident?"

I just stared; the darkness restricted any form of communication.

"…they should be here soon," Deltus said nervously. "You'd best go and hide."

At the darkness's urgings, I turned and walked away. I went over to the stairs, and then deliberated whether to hide on the floor above or the floor below. I was struck by a sudden realisation, and then immediately descended into the basement. My limbs shook, and my breathing was far too rapid; I spent a long time just focusing on trying to slow my reluctant breathing.

A while later, a pair of horses pulled a wooden cart, and stopped outside the house. I heard voices thank the driver, and then heard two sets of footsteps. The footsteps drew nearer, destined for the house. On the floor above, I could hear Deltus shift nervously. I moved towards the sounds, wanting to be near to them so that I could hear their words when they spoke.

Deltus was a good actor when he greeted his two sisters. The three siblings shared polite conversation as I presumed the sun was setting. They eventually began to eat their evening meal. I was far too nervous for the smell of food to distract me; I felt as though I would vomit if I tried to eat.

"What is it, Deltus?" one of the sisters suddenly asked in a panicked tone. I heard his erratic breathing as the symptoms of his fake death began to emerge.

"What's he doing?" asked the second sister, merely curious. It could be that the second sister could be the conspirator, because of her lack of concern. It could just as easily be that the situation didn't seem nearly as terrible as the first sister would have me believe, and that the first sister was overdoing her fake concern.

I heard Geltus fall from his chair onto the creaking wooden floorboards directly above me. The two sisters jumped to their feet and franticly scrambled over to their brother's 'body'.

"I can't feel a pulse," said the first sister.

The second sister remained silent. I heard the shivering of a tiny chain.

"What are you doing, Roletta?" asked the first sister.

"Get out of my way, Brina," said Roletta in a low voice.

After a moment of struggling to remove the chain from around Deltus's neck, Roletta gave up and instead tried to break the chain. The chain broke, and I could hear a small metal object rattling across the floor. The key and chain separated; the chain slipping through a gap between two of the floorboards and landing beside me as Roletta snatched the key. Brina became unable to chase after her sister as she was overcome by sobs.

Roletta entered the basement, and strode towards me. She wore burgundy clothes and a merciless expression on her face. She searched for the keyhole on the vault door, and then unlocked the vault with Deltus's key. The door swung open, and I leapt further into the corner of the room to avoid being hit by the door.

I heard her cautiously step inside, and then heard her yell. "No!" It wasn't a meaningless cry; from that one word I could tell all I needed to know. Roletta was the conspirator, and had tried to liberate her brother's fortune before even reading his will. That one word conveyed her frustration of being outsmarted by her brother; the fortune was not there.

She began to stroll out of the vault; I seized the opportunity and forcibly closed the vault door, shoving Roletta back inside. I heard her stumble to her feet, and prepare to push the door back open. She had left the key in the lock, so I merely locked the door and sealed her doom. I removed the key from the lock and slid it under the door.

"Let my out!" she screamed. "Deltus! Brina! You're working together, aren't you? Let me out!"

* * *

First Seed 16, 3E433

* * *

"Well done, Nagaia," said Vicente Valtieri. "You identified which sister was the conspirator, and sent her to Sithis."

Guilt filled my heart and tears filled my eyes. Even though Roletta had been a traitor to her own family, no-one deserved to die; especially not alone in a dark vault. The vampire passed me a small sack of clinking coins.

"Here is your reward, and…" he paused, looking around the candlelit room. He lifted a pile of official-looking documents, and then picked up a small object that had been hidden underneath. Vicente triumphantly lifted the object, a silver ring, towards the light source. In the light of the candle, I could see that Vicente's hands were covered with tan-coloured gloves which protected his skin from the silver of the ring.

"Here's your bonus," he finished. The vampire handed the ring to me. I felt the tingle of the ring's enchantment as it came in contact with my skin.

"This ring has been enchanted with a weak chameleon spell that will improve your ability to be undetected…"

I ceased listening to the Executioner's words, and my thoughts wondered to the family of Deltus Corius. I hated Deltus for wanting his sister's death. I hated Roletta for betraying her family. I hated myself for being the tool that destroyed that family. My thoughts finally settled on Brina, an innocent who would never for one moment forget the sorrow.

* * *

**Thank you, AnnukkaNiskavaala and Fair Trick for favouriting this story!**

**By the way, I heard about some bad stuff happening with fanfiction restrictions resulting in some stories being deleted without learning because of their content. There's also a petition or two against it… somewhere online (I signed one of them). If my story gets deleted coz it's 'too violent', I'll just write an autobiography; not as violent, but still pretty dark... I could also find another website to post this on… Anyways, fingers crossed that nothing bad happens.**


	14. Epiphany

**Guess what, guys! I'm alive! I am such a horrible person, keeping you waiting like this… I have no idea how late this chapter is, but its lateness is due to a combination of homework, study, distraction, and pretty much everything… I wonder if this is what people call "writer's block"? Anyways, I planned months in advance what was going to happen in this chapter, but I couldn't find the time or the right words to write it.**

**JustMe –  
****Thank you for your review! (Please keep reviewing, I lieks nuggets :P) Would changing everything to a constant 1st person or 3rd person limited POV increase the number of reviews? Sorry about the lack of description last chapter, I was already way behind in my schedule and just wanted to get it done. I'll go back and fix it when I get time. Writing the next few chapters is my first priority. Sometimes I enjoy writing descriptions in excruciating detail, and sometimes I look forward to more interesting chapters…**

**Masqued – (quoted from PM)  
****Thank you for reviewing! I have no idea how violent my story actually is, because writing and reading fanfiction are two entirely different things to me. I'm actually quite jealous of my readers, because of the mystery of this story. Being the writer, I already know a fair bit about what is going to happen in this story (though for a major part, this story seems to write itself)…**

**EliraXBrynjolf – (quoted from PM)  
****Thank you! You are so kind... My last chapter wasn't too good, but that was because I was getting impatient and want to push the plot forward (I'm looking forward to writing chapter 16).**

**Thank you DeathMay, epicyaoi, and CheySkywalker for reviewing! Also thanks to ****EliraXBrynjolf, DeathMay, and CheySkywalker for favouriting! I have responded by PM.**

**I hope I didn't insult any of my reviewers...**

**…and without further delay, we're onto the chapter…**

* * *

First Seed 16, 3E433

* * *

I could not sleep. I also refused to acknowledge why; to admit to a positive emotion during the current circumstances was like giving in to the darkness' will. I cursed my analytical nature as I was forced to define the emotion. 'Excitement' was on my blacklist, so I settled on 'curiosity'.

Carefully positioned in the centre of the makeshift table beside my bed was the object of my fascination. I hadn't known that I had still been capable of 'curiosity' in my current circumstances. Even though it was the first enchanted trinket I had ever possessed, and even though it was the first enchanted trinket I had ever held, I shouldn't have allowed myself to be distracted from my resistance against the darkness. I couldn't separate my thoughts from the ring.

In contrast to the darkness of the night, the ring glowed. Tendrils of magical light coiled around the shining silver; occasionally tiny flecks would escape from the ring before being dissolved into the surrounding air. I focused, tracing the patterns of energy that spiralled around the ring. Something troubled me; if this ring was to keep the wearer hidden, why did it glow?

I realised that my eyes were closed as I gazed. My head wasn't even turned in that direction. I was looking at the ring with that energy-sight without even realising. I opened my eyes, and could only find the ring in the dark because of my energy-sight; the ring was even camouflaged with the surface it had been placed on.

I was intrigued by the magic that surrounded the ring. Never having had owned an enchanted trinket before, I had assumed that the magic of the ring was separate to the magic of the air. I had never though about what fuelled an enchantment, even though my assumption of enchanted trinkets had been illogical. The ring drew magic from the air to fuel its enchantment.

I picked up the ring and held it in my hand as my head buzzed with ideas. I remember my last attempt to use magic. I had been able to direct the energy but hadn't been able to transform it. Transforming the raw energy into fire, ice, or any spell had been impossible.

My hopes were renewed as I discovered a link. The ring drew raw energy from the air that surrounded it. I could direct raw energy towards myself. Perhaps I would be able to boost the flow of energy into the ring, and produce a more powerful enchantment.

I could feel a subtle tingle from the ring in my hand. Was it my imagination that the magical energy seemed to shiver with the regularity of a beating heart? Was it merely my own heartbeat that I was sensing? I could feel the magical energy as it flowed into the ring to be converted.

I slipped the ring onto the middle finger of my left hand, and observed as my arms became inconsequentially camouflaged with the floor. With my mind I adjusted the flow of energy; I strengthened it, and bent it to my will. I could not see any difference in the transparency of my skin and clothing, so I looked at the ring. However, I couldn't see the ring; I could still feel the ring, but it had become invisible.

I ceased my interference with the ring's energy flows, and it became visible once more. Whenever I willed more energy into the ring, the ring itself would become more transparent rather than me. I searched the swirling rivulets of energy, and discovered a field of energy projected by the ring that clung to my body like a second skin. I guided a flow of energy through the ring and into that field, and I began to fade.

I understood why the ring had been given such a petty enchantment. The enchantment by itself would have negligible effect, and thus little use. Vicente must have given it to the lowest-ranking member of the sanctuary as a way of getting rid of it; he had not understood its true function. The ring's enchantment allowed for a chameleon spell to be 'cast' silently.

An inexperienced spellcaster would not be able to cast a spell without being noticed by others. In a situation that would require the use of a chameleon spell, casting the spell would reveal to people nearby that someone is using magic, and thus raise their suspicions. In such a situation, the act of casting the spell would increase the chances of being discovered rather than decrease them, so the spell would be pointless. With the chameleon spell pre-cast, the wearer of the ring would be able to increase the effectiveness of the enchantment by providing additionally magicka to the ring.

I willed more energy into the enchantment, and my skin and clothing became increasingly transparent. I looked down at myself, and the shadowy floor filled my vision. I could see only the haziest outline of myself. I lifted my hand, and I could see light bending unnaturally; it was as if my arm were made of water, or of the heat that lingers over a burning fire.

I looked around the room for sources of light. I was compelled to sneak as silently as I could as I approached the torch. My outline was much clearer beneath the burning torch mounted on the ancient stone walls. I increased the intensity of the chameleon spell, but it taxed my magicka reserves so I was forced to stop completely.

I knew that I wouldn't be able to sleep in my current state, so I changed into warmer clothes and belted on the ebony dagger. As I was about to leave, I noticed that I couldn't see the ring. I knew that I was still wearing it, but it was invisible. I probed the enchantment with my mind, but the invisibility was impossible to reverse; not even when I removed the ring from my finger did the ring become visible.

I mentally shrugged and turned to exit the living quarters. The ring's enchantment was still functioning properly, so the ring's permanent invisibility would not matter unless I lost the ring.

I entered the main hall of the sanctuary, and immediately felt uncomfortable. Teinaava was sitting in a chair at the pitiable library. I wanted to turn around and go back into the living quarters, but he had already noticed me. He stood up to face me, and excited expression on his face.

"Can't sleep, sister?" he asked.

I didn't respond. I didn't even want to respond. I knew that he had a poorly thought-out scheme that he wished to turn into reality. I knew that I would be unable to say no.

* * *

First Seed 17, 3E433 (early morning)

* * *

A chilling breeze drifted past, teasing the hem of the black robes. The wind blew south, parallel to the river that tore Cheydinhal in two, and perpendicular to the bridges astride this river. When the hooded figure reached the eastern end of the bridge, he stepped from wood onto the gravel path. He glanced towards the drowsy guards at the eastern gate before proceeding south towards the abandoned house.

Like a cat, he slunk amongst the shadows behind the houses until he reached the well. The hooded figure peered at his immediate vicinity before opening the grate of the well. There was an audible screech as the reluctant grate moved on his hinges, causing the hooded figure to wince. He was about to climb down the ladder, but was interrupted by the sound of two pairs of poorly concealed footsteps.

The hooded figure dropped the grate and quickly pulled himself up onto the roof of the abandoned house, wincing again as the grate clashed back into its original position. His hood was thrown back as he swiftly passed through the forceful air. The two people who had just left through the front door of the abandoned house didn't seem to have noticed his presence or the loud opening and closing of the grate on the well. He cursed the rusty grate for almost betraying his presence.

He recognised the pair, even though they were wearing civilian clothes and he was behind them. He would have even been able to recognise them by their silhouettes. He had memorised every initiate he had introduced into his sanctuary. Before him were the Assassin Teinaava, and the Murderer 'Nagaia'; he stalked them with his gaze.

The wind changed direction and caught in Lucien's hair. His hair was brown and flowed like a river upon the chilling wind, and catching the soft white moonlight. It was uneven and slightly longer than the norm for a man's hair, as if he had been neglecting it. His trade was very time-consuming, and offered very little spare time.

Lucien watched as the Argonian crossed the path that wound its way through Cheydinhal. The little Bosmer followed cautiously behind, and glanced nervously over her shoulder. Her gaze hovered over Lucien's shrouded form, but she did not see him. As he looked into her mysterious green eyes, there was a sense of familiarity, but he could not remember where from.

The pair angled around to the western wall of the Chapel of Arkay. Lucien Lachance jumped from roof to room along the line of houses to keep them within his field of view. For a few seconds they left his view and when he next saw them, Teinaava was climbing the external wall of the Chapel with 'Nagaia' at the base. Teinaava didn't seem to notice that the girl wasn't climbing with him.

Lucien could not accept 'Nagaia' as being her name. He didn't even take into account the slight possibility that 'Nagaia' could be her real name; the name just didn't seem to fit. His own confidence that 'Nagaia' couldn't possibly be her name bothered him, but he couldn't keep himself in a logical state of mind. His predecessor had trained him never to accept anything as truth; there was only the possibility of truth, never certainty.

Another entity entered his field of view. Black armour, faint footsteps, and a subtle metallic clinking told him that it was Ocheeva. She wasn't due back for at least an hour. She had returned early.

Ocheeva slid into the shadows of the chapel graveyard as a guardsman walked past. She hid herself from the guard's dozing eyes, but placed herself into the vicinity of her siblings. Lucien watched as the other Shadowscale stiffened. Teinaava had noticed her presence.

Ocheeva stepped out of the shadows, and strode towards the abandoned house. Teinaava relaxed and continued to scale the roof of the chapel. He glanced back, expecting to see the Bosmer close behind. Lucien heard the sound of his foot scratching across the tiles of the chapel roof.

The sound was barely audible, but it was enough. Ocheeva pivoted on the spot, her eyes darting towards the source of the sound. Her eyes widened when she recognised her brother. She glanced around herself to check that she was alone before she began speaking.

"Teinaava!" she hissed.

He turned to face her, his stance immediately losing its excitement.

"Get down from there!"

"Wait, sister," he muttered in response. He glanced around himself, looking for 'Nagaia'.

"Get down now! You'll injure yourself, just like last time."

Ocheeva hadn't noticed that two more family members were listening. Lucien knew that she would never speak of her twin in such a way with other family members present. Teinaava glanced away, looking embarrassed before walking up to the edge of the roof and diving into the river below. Ocheeva rolled her eyes.

The twins entered the sanctuary, leaving only the guards, the beggars, and Lucien and 'Nagaia' in the open darkness. The girl did not follow the others back into the sanctuary. He stared at her, curious.

She looked downwards, her hands reaching into the thick grass. When she straightened up, a single flower was held in her right hand. As she tucked it behind her ear, he saw the colour of its petals; deep purple, the colour of nightshade. She seemed unaware of the deadly nature of the flower, so Lucien foresaw her death.

Lucien knew that there was a high possibility that she would die as a result of the flower that accessorised her ear, so he watched. He waited for the moment that she would join Sithis. He would not prevent it from occurring; most initiates into the Dark Brotherhood don't survive their first month. Unravelling the mystery of her life would not outweigh the pleasure of watching her die.

The girl turned towards the tree that overlooked the river. It was an old tree, and was almost as tall as the chapel, but its branches were supple and sinuous. Its leaves lazily dangled downwards as if they were too heavy for the tree to hold them aloft. She reached for the lower branches of the tree, despite the tree's unsuitability for climbing.

The Speaker watched as the tiny elf pulled herself up, higher and higher, through the branches of the sleeping tree. He could see her upbringing through the skill with which she scaled the tree. He could see had lived a traditional Valenwood existence for the majority of her lifetime. She was new to Cyrodiil.

Lucien watched as she delicately balanced on a branch near the top of the tree. She was standing high enough up the tree for the highest leaves to reach only up to her shoulders. The branch she stood on bent and shook violently, but did not collapse under her weight. It was an unnatural sight to Lucien's eyes; any normal person, even an underweight Khajiit, wouldn't have been able to climb so high without falling from the over-flexible tree.

The top leaves of the tree jiggled nervously as she shifted her weight. Her head vanished from Lucien's view as she pulled herself down into a crouch. He was surprised when she sprung, flinging herself towards the wall of the chapel. He was even more surprise when she did not fall; instead she clung to the external wall of the chapel.

She appeared weak and uncomfortable when climbing the man-made structure. This contrasted her earlier confidence and agility from when she climbed the tree. The girl seemed like she was going to fall at some points. Somehow she managed, with great difficulty, to pull herself onto the roof of the chapel.

Lucien flung himself off the roof of the house as the girl disappeared from his field of view. He followed after her, not wanting to miss the moment. He bypassed the tree, and instead swiftly climbed from the base of the chapel. He reached the place on the roof of the chapel where he had last seen her, but it was already too late.

She was nowhere to be seen. He searched the entire roof of the chapel for clues concerning her whereabouts. By the time he found it, she would have had ample time to climb down to ground level. Nestled amongst the spikes that crowned the chapel was a single purple flower.

The wind violently changed direction, caressing the petals of the nightshade flower, and threatening to blow it eastward off the roof. Lucien delicately picked up the flower with his gloved hands and examined it. Lucien sighed into the wind, surrendering to the logical conclusion that the girl's isolation from the deadly flower would increase her chances of survival. Lucien prepared to throw the flower into the night's wind, but was distracted by his train of thought.

Why had she climbed the chapel just to decorate it with a purple flower? There seemed to be no purpose to it, so he wanted to presume that it was due an insane compulsion. However, Lucien knew that there had to be some kind of trigger or meaning behind the action. Was the action symbolic?

He examined the flower closer, and saw that the flower's stem had been severed by one of her fingernails. He marvelled at her recklessness and stupidity, and hoped for her sake that she washed her hands before eating. Such recklessness in the presence of poison seemed strangely familiar to him. Why was it familiar?

Lucien was reminded of his earlier frustration. Why must everything about this girl be familiar to him? Why couldn't he remember where this familiarity was from? He strained his memories, but force would never work.

He thought of her action. She had exposed herself to several possible causes of death in order to decorate a roof that no-one could see. It was like a piece of art, a symbol, a means of communication, but the message could not be received. There was no-one who could listen to her, because she had no-one left…

Where had that come from? He didn't know anything about her, not even her name. How could he know that her birth family was dead? He could never know anything; he could never know for sure if anyone was dead unless he was the cause of their death.

And then he remembered.

_Neia._

* * *

**Yay! Massive turning point!**

**By the way, if any of you guys play Minecraft, I have posted the I.P. address of my favourite Minecraft server on my fanfiction profile.**

**Also, can you see that nice text box down there? The website has changed since I last posted a chapter. Doesn't it look so easy to review? :P**


	15. Venom

**Thank you, dreamysherry and CheySkywalker for reviewing the last chapter.**

**I hope that no-one hates Neia for being prejudiced against Argonians, or me for writing her that way. I absolutely love Argonians. My first ever character in Oblivion was an Argonian. Neia will eventually change her attitude towards Argonians quite drastically.**

* * *

First Seed 18, 3E433

* * *

There was no change in the milky red eyes, but one delicately curved eyebrow rose slightly. An uneven percussion of adrenaline had joined the cacophony of thrumming hearts that surrounded him in the underground sanctuary. He listened for the intricate details that made up the sound, trying to determine the identity of the person that belonged to the sound. The heartbeat was familiar, but was loud and distorted. Vicente turned his head towards the main entrance of the sanctuary, intrigued.

A black-robed man forcefully flung the black door, its hinges screaming in protest. Vicente remained a statue as he heard the hearts around him stutter, and then accelerate in recognition of the loud noise. Vicente recognised the hooded figure, but it was not the calm, reserved man he knew. Something significant had happened; Lucien's emotions never betrayed him, not even the deaths of his family members could push him over the edge like this.

The vampire watched as Lucien surveyed the room. When their eyes met, Vicente was struck by the expression on the Speaker's face. Lucien advanced on Vicente, walking in a slight crouch with his brown eyes wide and staring like those of a mountain lion, or a bird of prey. The Speaker was stood over the seated vampire; the book Vicente had been reading lay discarded in his lap.

"Where is she?" demanded Lucien. His tone was not what Vicente had been expecting. The way that the human's heart raced had led him to expect shouting, stuttering, or hissing. Instead Lucien spoke deeply and darkly, and seemed to threaten Vicente with his tone alone.

Vicente didn't know what to say.

Lucien lost patience, and grasped the collar of Vicente's shirt with his gloved hand. "Where is she?" he murmured into the Executioner's ear.

Vicente chose his words carefully, not wanting to provoke Lucien. "Who is it that you are speaking of, Lucien?"

"Nagaia," he murmured, annunciating his syllables sharply, like the edge of a blade. Vicente resisted the urge to position his hand near his concealed dagger.

"I sent her out on a contract. She will return within the week," Vicente calmly responded.

"Which contract?"

"The Argonian named Shal-Mei. Nagaia left earlier tonight, just after sunset. Will you wait for her to return?" Vicente doubted that Lucien would wait. There was an unmistakable air of urgency about him.

Lucien released Vicente's collar, backed away, and then sharply turned. A miniature gust of wind blew in the Speaker's absence, turning a page of the book in Vicente's lap. Lucien grasped the handle of the heavy ebony door, stepped through, and slammed the door behind him. Moments later the doors on either side of the main hall cautiously opened, and curious gazes became fixed upon the figure of Vicente Valtieri.

* * *

First Seed 20, 3E433

* * *

My eyes swept from the greenish brown of the swampland bordering the Niben to a crack in the stone wall of the house. It was a small house, but bore a second story and a steeply pointed roof. With my eyes I traced the crack up the walls to the dark tiles of the roof. Moss and other greens grew amongst the tiles of the roofs, and flowering creepers dangled down to eye level.

I did not take issue with killing an Argonian. I knew that I was biased, and I knew that the darkness could use this weakness as leverage. If I could kill Argonians without extreme self-hatred, how soon would I be killing anyone without a second thought? I was troubled the growth of the darkness within me.

I was more troubled by how quickly my attitudes concerning Argonians had evolved from curiosity to cold discrimination. The first Argonian I had met was a bandit; the second held a place of power in the Brotherhood I loathed; the third was her twin brother. The bandit had tried to kill me; Ocheeva had tortured me; Teinaava had thoroughly annoyed me, and had talked me into many difficult situations. I had not met any Argonians who were kind or understanding, so I subconsciously generalised these negative traits to the entire species.

I angled around the house until I found the door through which I could enter. A pair of leather boots sat next to the doorway, meaning that the mark was still inside the house. Unfortunately, there was a large ankle-deep puddle beneath the door. I supposed that because of Argonians' natural affinity to water let them live in such inhospitable conditions. The darkness gave me the strength to cross the threshold of my next victim's abode.

My eyes needed a few moments to adjust before I could examine the contents of the house. A rusty iron nail was stuck in the wall on the far side of the room. A rusty iron frame lay discarded on the floor beneath the nail, displaying a tattered old painting. I squinted so that I could make out what the painting depicted. It was a nature scene, elegantly painted with swampy greens.

The darkness urged me on, up the stairs. I had determined that my mark was not in the single-roomed bottom floor of the house. I could not resist the darkness's urges. I crept towards the stairs.

I lowered my foot onto the bottom stair, and then shifted my weight onto it. I winced, and almost jumped when the stair emitted a high-pitched screech. I carefully crept up the stairs, which was only possible by letting the darkness take control of my body. I merely drew a path to our destination with my mind, which the darkness silently traced.

There was only one door leading from the top of the stairs. I hesitated outside, troubled by my lack of reluctance. Killing this Argonian could mean taking a step further into my darkness's grasp. The darkness's attention was drawn to the fact that I was still standing outside, and with one final push I entered the room.

Something was wrong. I could smell it, and I could almost see it. The rust-like scent thickened in the air as I strode forward towards the bed in the centre of the room. Inside the torn canopy of the bed was a dreadful sight.

Shal-Mei's chest did not rise or fall; she was not breathing. She was as silent and still as a doll. Surrounding her was the deep red liquid and the pungent aroma of Argonian blood. My mark, Shal-Mei, was already dead.

I sank to my knees, contemplating what to do next. I wouldn't be able to determine anything from the corpse; I had not the knowledge or training. Would the darkness or the Dark Brotherhood forgive me for not being the one to end this Argonian's life. I hoped that they would banish me, or would at least kill me. I hoped that my days in the Brotherhood were over.

I sensed a shadow behind me. I wondered whether this shadow was real, a ghost, or merely symbolic. I did not turn my head to observe the shadow; there was no apparent need to. I was perfectly contented with kneeling before my failed kill. I did not stir as the shadow drew closer.

The shadow grabbed me from behind, clasping one hand over my mouth to prevent me from screaming. Shock ran through my body. A blade was brought to my throat, and rested the tiniest distance away from my death. I had been prepared, but Shal-Mei's killer had still caught me by surprise.

I felt his breath behind my ear as he moved his lips closer. I heard his grim, terrible whisper as he instructed me not to resist, and not to cry for help. I was disappointed that he would not kill me quickly and immediately. From the sound of his voice, I was reminded of that strange song that I could never hear from beginning to end…

_…Listen, my child  
__To the sound of the void  
__To the blackest of midnight  
__And of mercy devoid_

_Child of the Night Mother  
__Born of her love  
__Hiding in darkness  
__Of deathly belove_

_Sleep, my dear child  
__Or suffer dread's scorn  
__Sleep, little sister  
__Or crimson line torn…_

I was being dragged down the stairs of that house. I could feel a shallow cut where my neck and shoulders were joined. It was a strange cut, because it did not sting, but from that cut paralysis began to spread. It even paralysed my thoughts, and I sunk into unconsciousness…

* * *

**Yay. I finally found time to finish this chapter. I hope it isn't too short.**


	16. Prison

**More than 50 000 words! The longest thing I had written before writing this fanfic was less than 1000 words.**

**Before the story continues, I would like to use this opportunity to thank Guest and Guest for reviewing the last chapter.**

* * *

First Seed 21, 3E433

* * *

First I noticed the floorboards beneath me. They were old and worn, but whether this was from footsteps or rain I could not tell. I could smell rain, air and forest. I could hear the soft music of trickling water from a nearby creek or spring.

My mouth was dry and tasted like several days of sleep. I didn't know what several days of sleep tasted like, but I knew what one night of sleep tasted like. The flavour was several times worse. I tried to open my eyes, but I found that I could not.

I felt the floorboards creak and the roof whine with the rising of the sun. I felt the change in temperature as the sun warmed when the rain ceased. I felt the cold bite again, and I felt myself shiver painfully as the rain returned. I waited in the cold with my darkness.

* * *

First Seed 22, 3E433

* * *

I felt someone's warm breath behind my ear, rousing me from my slumber. A tingling sensation ran through my body as it was freed from the paralysis. I became aware that my hands were tied behind my back, and that I had been lying on my side, on the wooden floorboards. I opened my eyes.

I could see the dark, moist wooden boards of a wall. I was in some kind of small wooden shack, which offered poor protection from the elements. I could not see the room's other inhabitant, but I could sense their presence. Only moving my eyes, I glanced around the room, and noticed a field of black on the very edge of my vision.

"Do you recognise this place?" asked a dark whisper. I could hear him clearly, because his lips were behind my ear.

I didn't respond, but he was unperturbed.

"I didn't think so. It was many years ago…"

I tilted my head, trying to catch a glimpse of my captor. The darkness cautioned me, which I presumed was an act of self-preservation. This allowed me to perceive the extent to which the darkness had spread within my mind. The twisting tendrils of darkness blighted my mind; it would only a matter of time before my will and morality were shattered.

"Do not try to call for help…" said my captor.

He must have noticed my attempts to see him, but somehow misinterpreted them. I was mute in the first place, so his warning was groundless.

"…though I have heard that you cannot, even if you wish to. I do not believe this rumour, however. I have heard your voice many times. It was long ago, but I can still remember the sound of your screams."

I saw the room's shadows shift around me, and felt the hem of a cloak brush up against my cheek. My captor stepped over me, and crouched down once more, his hood level with my frightened face. My heart raced faster, pounding energy into my blood, but I resisted the urge to fight against the rope binding my wrists and ankles together. The darkness awakened within me, and stared through my eyes into the dark hood of my robed captor.

"Perhaps there is something that will jog your memory," said a grim whisper emanating from his hood. I could not see the face of my captor in the darkness of this rain-drenched shack. "I assure you that this is the same structure that I took you to all those years ago… you were barely older than an infant.

"Do you remember the spell I cast upon you that first night? I cast silence… a spell I would normally have saved for mages. Not lesser mages; they were far too easy to silence with a blade. I used silence on you, a mere child…

"I have never much liked children; too noisy, too innocent… How much did Vicente teach you of our lore? The Night Mother sang a lullaby to the first of her children. The first five, the first Black Hand… you need not know what happened next. No doubt Sithis will tell you when you kneel before him for your treachery…

"What say you, Neia?" he asked.

I shivered at the sound of my name. How did he know it? The only people who knew my name were back in Valenwood. Did this madman find my family? No, he couldn't have. Only I know who my family were…

"Would you like this opportunity to speak your last words? No? I will make this go on for a long time, and offer you plenty of opportunity to use those beautiful vocal chords of yours, should you change your mind. I would love to hear you scream once more…"

He leaned over me and cut the ropes binding my wrists and ankles. He did not let me escape, however. He leant on me with his left forearm, and a dagger appeared in his right hand. My eyes filled with tears as he pressed the blade against my throat.

* * *

Sun's Dawn 15, 3E420

* * *

It smelt like firewood and rain; or paper and snails; or garden and apples; or wet and flowers. I heard a sound like a bubbling kettle in the windy rain. It was cold like winter night, but I could see red through my eyelids. I was shaking like an autumn tree.

I opened my eyes, and I could see wood all around me. It looked like a gardener shed, but it looked a bit different. Why was I sleeping in a gardener shed? When I wake up, I'm always in my room.

I tried to get up, but then I saw that I was sleeping on the floor. I couldn't see my blankets, they were black instead. I tried to get out of the blankets, but they were big and round, like the tablecloth from the circle table. I wanted to go back to bed when I stood up, because it was cold.

I walked over to the curtain, using little steps. I walked carefully, because I couldn't find my shoes. The floor was made of wood, and I didn't want to get splinters. The curtains were white-brown, like the clothes that maids wear when they go in the kitchen.

I pulled the heavy curtain up. I quickly snuck behind the curtain before it fell back down. My father didn't like the way I opened curtains, but when he did it I never saw how. I was surprised when the window was cold and windy.

The wind went through the window. I reached out to a gap between the wooden frames, and my hand went through the window. There were no pieces of hard air in the window. Why is there a window that the wind can go through?

I looked out through the windy window and could see lots of green. There were lots of moss, lots of mushrooms, and lots of trees. Really close were these things that looked like trees, but they were too big so I couldn't see all of them. The wind smelt like rain.

I saw many rocks; some of them were wet and some of them had snail trails on them. There was a big snail trail going curvy around where I was, but it wasn't like a snail trail. It looked like it was moving, but it wasn't moving. It looked like water, and I think that was where the bubbling kettle sound was.

There was a scarecrow between me and the water-bubble-trail. It was wearing black and wasn't looking at me. It wasn't watching a field because there wasn't a field. The scarecrow was scary, so I went away from the windy window.

The curtain was heavy, so the wind couldn't push it. I looked away from the curtain and looked around the room. There was something in the corner beside the door, so I went to it. It was a bag, and I opened it up. Inside were some apples, and I was hungry because I hadn't eaten any breakfast.

"Don't," said someone.

It was a low voice, but it wasn't rough like a man's. That someone's voice scared me, and I jumped away from the bag. I turned around and saw the scarecrow from the window. He was wearing black clothes, had brown hair, and had brown eyes. I could tell he was a man because women had long hair, and he had short hair.

I was so scared that I shook like... sh-sh-shook… like a tree in a windstorm. He looked at me and I couldn't look away. I wanted him to stop looking at me. I spoke, but my words weren't very loud.

"Whe-where is mother?" I asked.

* * *

First Seed 22, 3E433

* * *

A single gust of wind blew on the shack with strength enough to rattle the wooden boards of the walls. A black shadow surrounded me as I lay on the wooden floorboards. A blade was held at my throat by his hand. I could not see him in the darkness, and my eyes swam with tears, but his voice could be heard in my ear.

"I followed you up onto the rooftop of the chapel, where you left that nightshade flower... That is how I remembered that we had met before. That is how I remembered your name, Miss Neia. That is how I knew that you were the traitor.

"I was suspicious, because all of the killings since you joined the Brotherhood occurred while you were absent from the sanctuary. Even that first contract that I watched you complete gave you a window of opportunity; you completed that contract almost an entire day after it was given to you, but your mark resided in the same part of the City as the sanctuary. However, the killings began before you joined our ranks, so you were not considered a suspect. Now I have evidence that you were associated with the Brotherhood before the killings began; there can be no doubt that you are the traitor…"

This stranger had been watching me as I killed the Orc? I had completed that contract promptly after receiving from Vicente; perhaps my captor was not as well-informed as he claimed. Perhaps Vicente hesitated or waited before giving me that contract. I knew that I was not the traitor; I would not willingly kill anyone, and the darkness would not betray the Dark Brotherhood

I wanted to argue my case, but the darkness did not allow me to speak. I tried to communicate to this shady stranger with my eyes. I imagined that my tear-drenched emerald-green eyes were bordered by tear-drenched red skin. This stranger… I yearned to know who he was before he took my life away from me on his deluded rampage.

"When I knew without a doubt that you were a traitor, it was too late. You had already left the sanctuary for a contract. I knew you were the traitor. You had the motive, but I didn't have time to tell the Listener my intentions or to find solid evidence.

"I followed you, knowing that you would kill another Dark Brother or Sister before reaching your mark. I do not yet know who you killed, but the Listener will know by now. That will be evidence enough to validate what I am about to do…"

No… I was sure I had never killed anyone of the Dark Brotherhood. The Listener would not find a murdered Dark Brother or Sister; this stranger had no justification for my death. Was he ignorant of my relative innocence, or was he the traitor himself? Would he kill another member of the Dark Brotherhood and blame it on me?

Who was this stranger, my captor? His voice was familiar, but it was barely a whisper so I could not tell for sure. He was going to kill me; I didn't want to die. All of those times I had wanted to die for my sins… I had been lying to myself. _Help me, darkness…_

I shifted slightly, and could feel him stiffen as he held me to the floor. I slowly raised my hand, and he froze. My hand cautiously continued, as slowly as it could. I was very conscious of the blade he held at my throat.

I delicately searched the darkness around me. I grasped the fabric gently, and carefully pulled. His hood slipped off. Even in the darkness of the shack I could recognise his face.

_Lucien Lachance._

* * *

Sun's Dawn 15, 3E420

* * *

Lucien stared at the child and she avoided his gaze. She looked so innocent, but his old teacher had said that innocence was an illusion. He decided that the girl was lying to him, and that there was darkness somewhere within her. There is darkness within everyone, even if it takes years to manifest itself on a conscious level.

"What are you called?" I asked her after a long silence. He could not answer her last question. How do you tell a child of her age that her mother is dead? He had already heard the child's name from her mother, but his intent was to make her more comfortable in his presence.

"Ney…" she muttered.

She spoke extremely quietly, and Lucien wasn't bothered focusing his sense of hearing like he had been trained to do. He would not use such effort to hear a pitiful little girl answer a question that he already knew the answer to.

"Neia?" he asked, and she nodded.

He silently remarked to himself about how short her name was. Usually Bosmer names were longer and had more than one consonant, and had a consonant-vowel ratio of at most 1 to 2. The name could have been short for something else but he didn't dare ask her, lest she feel uncomfortable enough to cry.

"Hello, Neia. My name is Lucien," he said in a smooth voice that verged on monotone. He sighed internally, self-conscious about sounding like an old woman who runs an orphanage. It was not a good image to associate with a handsome 21 year old, or a deadly assassin. He had a reputation to uphold.

Her attempt to conjure up courage was obvious as it physically manifested itself. She opened and closed her mouth several times without speaking, unaware how peculiar she was making herself look.

"Where are my parents?" she asked again, in a soft, musical voice. He had hoped that she would not pursue this topic.

He had thought about how to answer this question for a long time, but hadn't been able to decide what the best answer could possibly be. All of that wasted time; he had left his decision of what to tell her until the last moment. The most important thing was not to tell her the truth, that he had murdered both of them. Despite this, she wouldn't have been able to understand what that meant anyway.

"They are gone," he muttered, avoiding her eye. He was lucky that she was too young and unfamiliar with nonverbal communication to detect the poor and inadequate concealment of his lie. It was not a lie by definition, but Lucien was not telling her the whole truth.

"Gone?" said Neia, confused.

"Gone," he repeated. "We're going to find you a new family…" he trailed off as Neia began to cry.

If there is one thing he hated that he had not yet learned to ignore, it was crying. Lucien hastily handed her half of a bread roll, then walked out through the open doorway. He sat by the stream and sighed. Neia didn't follow him; she remained in the little abandoned shack and sobbed.

When it became time for Neia to sleep, she just wouldn't. She just couldn't stop crying. Whilst she sobbed, she asked for her parents and asked to go home. Lucien's impatience and frustration eventually became overwhelming.

He muttered the words of an illusion spell, and Neia immediately fell silent. She looked at him, confused and terrified. She began to shake violently. He led her to her makeshift bed on the rotting wooden floor of the shack, and attempted to calm her by placing a hand on her shoulder.

* * *

First Seed 22, 3E433

* * *

I stared into his deathly brown eyes, trying to understand. Lucien Lachance didn't strike me as being narrow-minded, but he had mistaken me for a traitor amongst murderers. I did not belong in the Dark Brotherhood, but I did not openly oppose them; the darkness did not let me. I was certainly not the type of traitor he accused me of being.

_Darkness, help me… I am not ready to die…_

Despite my begging, the darkness did not act. It seemed baffled, as if it could see no way out. I tried to speak to Lucien with my eyes. I could feel tears trickling down my face.

…_Listen, my child  
__To the sound of the void  
__To the blackest of midnight  
__And of mercy devoid_

_Child of the Night Mother  
__Born of her love  
__Hiding in darkness  
__Of deathly belove_

_Sleep, my dear child  
__Or suffer dread's scorn  
__Sleep, little sister  
__Or crimson line torn_

_Blade hides in darkness  
__With eyes that perceive  
__He has you at mercy  
__With words that deceive…_

There was an almost musical quality to the strange words that ran through my mind. It was like a lullaby… Lucien had spoken earlier of a lullaby… the Night Mother's lullaby… Maybe that's what this song is… One last song before I die… I have always enjoyed music…

* * *

**Cliffhanger... Until next time!**


	17. Duel

**I'm alive! How long has it been? I have had exams and other unfortunate parts of real life to do. I'm so sorry for the cliffhanger. I didn't think that it would take this long to find time to write this chapter.**

**Thank you to these people for reviewing / favouriting this story:**

**dreamysherry  
********epicyaoi**  
Lisana  
**people  
****Samanya Snow**  


**Your continued support is one of the reasons for this story being written.**

* * *

First Seed 22, 3E433

* * *

I could feel death's cold, sharp grasp. The silver blade of his dagger threatened to steal my life in an instant. I counted the beats of my heart, and with every passing beat I wondered when he would take my life. Each passing beat of my heart was another opportunity for him to act.

The darkness was frozen inside me, as if it was as immobilised as me. I could sense its presence inside of my mind without any shrouding haze. The frozen tendrils of blue ice within my mind covered everything, and had begun to corrode their way to the core of my being. I thought for the moment about the possibility of ridding myself from the darkness, but I knew that I had more immediate concerns.

Lucien's deathly brown eyes stared deeply into mine. I stared back unflinchingly, trying in vain to speak through my eyes. This last moment seemed frozen in time, as if it would last forever. Was I already dead?

I could still feel myself breathing, and I could hear both my breathing and his. I could hear my pulse drumming at a steady, rapid rate. I thought I could also hear his heartbeat, but I could have just been imagining it. I could not be sure, because of our closeness.

Due to the inactivity of the darkness, I felt as though my actions were less restricted. I tried to speak, but this was beyond me. I willed my lips to be parted, and I tried to make a sound, but all that I could hear was the voiceless rushing of air. He raised one of his eyebrows a minute degree.

I considered for a second that we had initiated some sort of basic level of communication, but I knew that was impossible. He was merely waiting for the right moment to kill me. Our closeness had led me to imagine that we were engaging in some kind of intimate conversation. I knew that I had been deluded, and that I had been clutching at one last hope.

I felt my eyes close momentarily as I blinked. I could feel my dried tears. I could not remember having begun crying. I closed my eyes once more, for a tiny bit longer than a blink.

When I opened my eyes once more, I could see his brown eyes watching me. His stare betrayed his curiosity. I did not know how I could see it, but his curiosity was as obvious as it was subtle. I examined the tiniest details of his eyes, and I imagined him doing the same.

As I stared into his deep brown eyes, I felt myself drifting into an almost trancelike state. I ceased noticing the room around me; my entire attention was fixed on him. The blade pressed against my throat was a mere feather on the edge of my perception. I was paralysed by the gaze of a bird of prey.

He seemed to be as mesmerised as I was, but it could have just been the illusion of time slowing down. We were both so close and so unmoving that any amount of time could have been passing unnoticed. Was my perception of time slowing to a standstill in the wake of my immediate doom? Was this my final moment? Was I to live in this moment forever, and never feel my throat being cut? Was I already as good as dead?

I could feel an emotion stirring deep inside me. I did not know what it was, but it was growing stronger. It was only a matter of time before I would recognise it. Only a sliver of time later, I knew that I would act because of that emotion.

I am not going to die. Both my darkness and I depend upon that. The darkness was not willing or able to act, so the task was left to me. I had to act before my life ended.

I could see a trace of confusion in Lucien's gaze. Maybe he had noticed that nameless emotion betray itself through my emerald eyes. I became sharply aware of death's clutch around my throat. I needed to be careful, lest that silver blade take my life instinctively or by accident.

I became aware of where my hands were. One was pinned to my side, while the other lay palm-up on the wooden floorboards near his face. The latter became the focus of my attention, and my palm began to tingle slightly. I felt the energy in the room around me, and focused it into my hand.

The tingling in my palm intensified. My palm burned, radiating heat into the air around it. Lucien didn't seem to have noticed, so I carefully raised my hand off the floor. I slowly twisted my wrist so that my palm was facing him.

The intimate moment ended. I was no longer privy to his passing thoughts and emotions as his eyes became blank and guarded. Even then, I could guess what he was thinking. I could imagine his caution at the unfamiliar power that emanated from the palm of my raised hand.

In our closeness I could feel his muscles tense. I knew that he was preparing himself to strike the killing blow. I only had mere seconds to act before my life was extinguished. I didn't let myself be overcome by fear.

Instead of attacking him with my raised hand, I absorbed the burning energy through my skin. I let it travel to my other hand, quickly so that it would not burn or otherwise damage me in the process. I kept my hand raised towards him, and knew that he wouldn't be able to tell the difference because of the residual heat in the air around that hand. On one of my fingers of my other hand was an invisible ring.

I channelled the magical energy through the ring, and made myself invisible. I knew that there was very little chance of my plan working, but I had nothing to lose from trying. I hoped that he underestimated my abilities, was bewildered, or a combination of the two. I pulled myself across the floor away from him, and would have hissed in pain as the point of the silver dagger brushed past my jaw.

He pulled himself up somewhat, and stared in my direction. I could hear my breathing accelerating, and I knew that he could too; he knew where I was. I returned his burning gaze, but he didn't react when I did; he didn't know exactly where I was. He wouldn't strike until he knew exactly where I was.

The stinging cut on my face was only a slight distraction, but the bleeding was more of an issue. I glanced down for a fraction of a second, and saw the small pool of blood that had already started to form beneath my invisible self. The pool of blood that dyed the wooden floorboards was almost the same colour as the trickle of red on the tip of Lucien's silver dagger. He too had noticed the pool of blood.

After he pulled himself to his feet, he held his spare hand aloft beside the hand that held his blade. His lips began to move and incomprehensible words began to form. A ball of magenta light began to form in his hand, and with a flick of his wrist he sent the spell towards me. I flinched as it enveloped me, but the sensation not unlike trickling water told me that the spell was not from the destruction school of magic.

I felt the flow of magic through my ring stop. I saw myself become visible once more. My speaker had cast dispel. I was completely visible. My invisibility spell had been overcome.

Fortunately for me, my magic was not like that normally practised in Tamriel. I was unable to cast spells myself, but I still managed to use some form of magic. Instead of casting spells, I would use my willpower to guide the energy I could sense around me. I could use that raw energy by itself to cause damage, or I could guide it through pre-existing spells like the enchantment of my invisible ring.

The energy I had been using had slipped out of my focus and dispelled back into the air around me. It did not take long for me to gather and channel some more energy through the enchanted ring. I faded from view once more, just as Lucien Lachance had pounced towards me. I slipped out of the way before he could strike me.

He paused for a moment. I knew that he was listening for breathing and movement, and he was looking for dripping blood. He was not concerned for his own wellbeing, because I had no weapon, and I wouldn't be able to sneak up on him without him noticing. It didn't take long for him to locate me, because I felt the same trickling sensation as another dispel spell hit me.

This time he was ready. This time he wouldn't give me time to turn invisible. I wondered why he was so unconcerned about my attempts to defend myself, and why he hadn't yet defeated me. I realised that he was playing with me.

His dagger arced towards me, its vicious reddish-silver point threatening to end me. As I tried to gather up the magical energy, I danced out of the way of his strike. The darkness had broken free from its stupor, and was helping me evade Lucien. Together we faced the older, far more experienced assassin.

I knew that I would inevitably be defeated. I knew that my attempts to defend myself were in vain. I knew that I wouldn't be able to defeat him, and if I tried to escape I would be recaptured. Despite all of this, I still fought for my life.

Lucien and I stood facing each other, perpendicular to the back wall. The field of energy in my palm grew more and more. As I concentrated on guiding the energy through my enchanted ring, I was knocked sideways towards the wooden wall of the shack. To prevent myself from crashing into the wall, I instinctively stuck my hand out.

This hand was completely bathed in raw magical energy. As well as preventing me from violently hitting the wall, this instinctive gesture brought the field of raw magical energy in contact with the wooden boards of the wall. After a loud hissing noise filled the air, I pulled my hand away from the wall. A black burn mark with the shape of a handprint was displayed on the wall.

I was pushed up against the wall, and the blade was once again pressed against my throat. The shadows of his robes surrounded both of us. A smoky scent filled the air in wake of the burned wood. He seemed to be unaware of what had occurred, for a tinge of confusion could be seen in his brown eyes, and his nostrils flared.

When he saw the burn mark, he stared at it for a few moments before letting me fall to the ground. He seemed to freeze for a while, and his eyes were unfocused as though he was lost in thought. I cautiously began to stir, but he was unperturbed. I pulled myself to my feet, and just stood there, confused.

After a long amount of time, he turned to face me. He had a grim expression on his face, but he made no move to attack me. He took a moment to straighten his clothes and replace his hood so that it shrouded his face. Lucien Lachance stared deeply into my eyes for a moment before he spoke.

"Sit," he commanded.

When I did as I was told, he joined me on the floor. He sat with his legs crossed, facing me.

* * *

**Did you like this chapter? Why do you think Lucien stopped trying to attack Neia? Until next time!**


	18. Exposure

**This chapter too **_**ages**_**! Please forgive me. The first draft was truly terrible, and I couldn't bring myself to publish until I fixed everything.**

**I would like to thank these people for reviewing:  
****CheySkywalker  
****Dreamysherry  
****WhisperedDarkness  
****Samanya Snow**

**And also thank these people for favouriting / following this story:  
****WhisperedDarkness  
****Martinxcv  
****Xo-fan-fic-girl-Xo**

* * *

First Seed 22, 3E433

* * *

We sat there for what felt like an eternity, just staring at each other. I felt like I had lost the ability to blink. The silence was so profound that even when I did blink, I felt the same. It felt as though the silence would last forever.

"I'm promoting you," said Lucien in a strange voice. It was quiet, but not a whisper. It was deep, but not powerful. It was resonant, but did not sound like him.

His voice had always been strange, but now it sounded out-of-character. I had been slightly surprised when he broke the silence. I wasn't particularly surprised that it was he who broke the silence, because I was eternally silent. I was silence eternal.

I tried to raise an eyebrow, or react in any way, but it seemed that the darkness had taken all control of my physical self. All that I could do was stare at him, but I had already been staring at him, so in his eyes I did not react at all. What does he mean by _promoting_ me? Just moments ago, he had been trying to kill me.

"You have proven yourself worthy of the rank of Slayer… not that it would do you much good," he said. He added the second part after a pause, like an afterthought.

This afterthought was enough to explain to me why he had taken the time to tell me of my 'promotion'. I drew the conclusion that he was still going to kill me, but he had paused to tell me how _impressed_ he was with my fighting skills. He was playing with me.

"You are still a traitor," he said.

I shifted my gaze downwards. I looked at the wooden floorboards beneath me. Instead of staring, my eyes were almost out of focus. I waited for him to resume his attempt on my life.

I waited for that moment to come. We sat there in silence for so long that I lost track of what time of day it was. I knew that I would have been able to tell if I looked through the tiny cracks which separated the wooden boards in the walls of this shack, but I couldn't find a purpose to the action. The moment never came; my Speaker didn't kill me.

"You must be confused, so let me explain," he finally said. "I met your parents before they died. That is how I know who you are. Your mother died protecting you with her life."

Wait, I thought. Was he implying…

"It would be more accurate to say that I was the cause of your parents' deaths. You would have been cared for by your grandmother, had she survived. Her death was no direct fault of mine. Her son, your father, carried out her execution."

He said all of this as though it was the most casual thing to have occurred. What he said froze me to the very core. This information had been hidden from me for years, hidden as some shameful family secret not to be told to anyone. This man was the paid assassin who had robbed my parents of their lives.

"Because of your past dealings with the Brotherhood, you are no longer absolved of suspicion. I shall be giving the Listener himself the honour of ending your life. If he does not think you worthy of his time and presence, he will send someone in his stead. My courier shall be arriving shortly and I will send a message to the Listener, requesting his presence."

* * *

First Seed 25, 3E433

* * *

The last few days had been spent in almost absolute silence. It was not surprising that I had been absolutely silent, but it was unnerving how little interaction my Speaker made. It was almost as though he was ignoring my presence. He did occasionally offer me food, and whenever he left the shack for short periods of time he bound my wrists and ankles so that I couldn't wander off on my own.

On the first day, Lucien wrote a letter and his courier arrived. The courier didn't set foot inside the shack. Lucien bound my wrists and ankles and met him outside. I overheard Lucien speak the words "Take this to Denaro in Bravil." I wondered whether Denaro was the name of the Listener, before deciding that it was unlikely. It is doubtful that Lucien would trust his courier that much.

On the second day, Lucien practised fighting. First he practised unarmed combat, going through a sequence of graceful attacks, blocks, and dodges. Next he practised with various weapons including throwing knives, glistening daggers, short-swords, and even a bow. Last of all, Lucien conjured a ghost and tested his various silver-bladed weapons on a real subject rather than empty air. The darkness and I both watched him, and found the experience very educational, though it was unlikely that I would ever get the opportunity to apply the skills which that we observed.

On the third day, Lucien spent most of the day maintaining his vast arsenal of weapons. The ceaseless rasping of blades chilled me to the bone, and was a constant reminder of my fast-approaching doom. I knew that it was only a matter of time before someone arrived at the shack. I hoped that they would realise my innocence. I could not plead my case, and Lucien Lachance was sure of my guilt.

When the Listener arrived, Lucien bound my wrists and ankles like he always did before stepping out of the shack. I could hear their voices, and I wanted to hear their words, so I managed to pull myself across the floor like a serpent. I pressed my ear against the wall and listened to their conversation. They spoke in hushed tones but their words could be heard.

"Listener, I am certain that she is the traitor," said Lucien.

"Unfortunately," said a male Bosmer. "I do not draw the same conclusions when presented with the available evidence."

"Did she not kill a member of our family? Is that not evidence enough?"

"Yes, one of our brothers has died, but there is no evidence pointing towards this mere Murderer. She is not the traitor. You ask whether there is enough evidence for us to suspect this _girl_. You might not have realised, Lucien, that there is no evidence. No evidence whatsoever."

"She has recently been promoted to Slayer –" Lucien began, before he was cut off by the Listener.

"A Slayer is barely more capable than a Murderer. Also, wasn't it you who said that those who joined the Brotherhood before the killings began were absolved of all suspicion?"

"Please hear me out, dear brother. This girl has had dealings with the Dark Brotherhood before. Do you remember the child of Galthor and Sylaen?"

"You don't mean to tell me that that _girl_ is little Neia all grown up? That human raincloud you once made the mistake of adopting? You should have given her to an orphanage, rather than keeping her as a _pet_ for several months. It is not like the Brotherhood to adopt the orphans of their contracts."

"At the request of her grandmother, I killed her parents. At the request of her mother, I did not take her to an orphanage. She had met the Dark Brotherhood before she was initiated into our ranks as a Murderer. She is no longer absolved of suspicion."

What in the name of Kynareth's cursed heavens was he talking about? I had always assumed that after the deaths of my parents, I had been taken immediately to Valenwood. Had I been _adopted_ by the Dark Brotherhood?

"So, you conclude that because of her past dealings with the Brotherhood, she has no alibi," said the Listener. "We do suspect that the traitor has links to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. However, I cannot think of why you would suspect her more than any other member of that sanctuary. She has no motive."

"She has a motive," said Lucien. "I am the indirect cause of that motive."

"What did you do to her whilst she was in your _care_?" asked the Listener. "Never mind, I don't want to know. However I think you might be a bit more than just an indirect cause. If you were so sure of her being the traitor, why did you not kill her yourself?"

I had no memory of this supposed time spent in the clutches of the Brotherhood, and I couldn't imagine what had occurred during that time. I didn't really want to imagine. I had been wondering why my Speaker didn't just kill me himself. Was he feeling guilt?

"This is the exact same shack that I brought her to after I killed her parents," said Lucien. "Just a few days ago, I brought her here and I attempted to kill her."

"And what? Your nerve failed you?"

"She has an impressive ability to survive in seemingly hopeless situations. If her attacker had been anyone other than a member of the Black Hand, I'm sure she would have escaped. That is why I promoted her."

"Why did you not kill her?" asked the Listener. His words seemed to freeze my blood into ice.

"Do you want me to kill her?"

"That was not my question."

"During the fight I realised that she is loyal, or believes herself to be loyal to the Brotherhood. She burned our symbol onto one of the walls inside that shack with her own hand. She cannot communicate by normal means, but I believe that she was trying to tell me something. She has no control over her compulsion to kill her own family members. There is only one thing that could have triggered her insanity."

After that, time seemed to stop. The imaginary ice in my blood spread and filled my entire body, freezing me solid. Was I the traitor after all? Was Lucien Lachance the one inadvertently behind my insanity; the darkness.

"So, you couldn't bring yourself to end her life, knowing your impact on her state of mind. You believe that she killed her own family members, so you cannot bring yourself to kill her, because of your role in their deaths."

"Yes, Listener," said Lucien.

"Lucien, I think it is time for me to tell you that despite your efforts to keep her restrained, your captive has heard almost every word of this conversation."

"And you let her?" asked Lucien. The only difference in his voice was the increased speed at which he spoke "What if she overheard something that should remain unheard? In fact, she has heard something she shouldn't have."

"She had a right to know why you suspect her. Also, according to you, she hasn't got much time left, so it does not matter what she hears."

"Are you going to kill her?" asked Lucien.

"No, I am not, and neither are you," said the Listener. "I do not believe her to be the killer. She is just as much a suspect as you are."

Lucien did not respond. I imagined him to be lost for words.

"For all I know, you could be the traitor, and you could be using her as a scapegoat."

"Are you accusing me of betraying the Dark Brotherhood?"

"No, Lucien. I am merely accusing you of jumping to conclusions. There are many possibilities that we have not considered."

"Why let her hear our conversation?" asked Lucien. "Surely having your voice heard by someone who is not a member of the Black Hand puts you in danger? She is a Bosmer, so she has probably already pinpointed the part of Valenwood where your ancestors originate."

"Do you question the will of the Night Mother? I do only as she instructs."

"No, brother, I do not question your authority or that of our mother."

"It is time that we make our leave of each other, Lucien. You must ensure that Neia lives, and does not die. Keep a close eye on her if you must, but know that we will also be keeping a close eye on you and the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. When we next meet, let it be on better terms."

"Until we next meet, Listener," said Lucien.

"Likewise, Speaker."

* * *

**So… Lucien's going to keep a close eye on Neia. According to my psychology textbook, proximity and familiarity have an effect on relationships between people :P**


End file.
